


transfiguration's gonna come for me at last (and i will burn hotter than the sun)

by QueasyBuddy



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mythology Elements, Best quality: The lack of geography knowledge, But I'm glad I worked on it, Developing Friendships, EVERYONE - Freeform, Finished Work - Under Revision, Gen, I am still trying hard to edit this into being GOOD though, I'm dragging brazilian folklore into all of my special interests and you cannot stop me, Look at me go! I'm angsty now!, Natural Disasters, OH I FORGOT THIS LITTLE THING, Phoenix Zuko (Avatar), Phoenixes, Platonic Relationships, Temporary Character Death, This Is Becoming Its Own Bad Things Happen Bingo, This is very angsty in retrospect, Yue (Avatar) Lives, and I hope you - whoever you are - enjoy it!, what or who is the natural disaster?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 70,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25756585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueasyBuddy/pseuds/QueasyBuddy
Summary: [ Nobody will find us here, the boy reasons to himself as he lays down, facing his prey, right next to the tiny flame that sputters out in their hiding place.And, as he numbly accepts that he is to sleep, that no one will ever find them here, that when morning comes, the snow will give out and he'll go home, one last cough escapes the little soldier boy, as he drifts off, far, far away.In his numb, frozen sleep, prince Zuko dies....And bursts into flames.]
Relationships: Azula & Toph Beifong, Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Yue & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 267
Collections: Avatar: The Last Airbender





	1. let me look in your eyes (as my last chance to feel human begins to vaporize)

**Author's Note:**

> TW FOR MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, CORPSES, GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF WOUNDS AND STUFF
> 
> Please warn me if there's anything I haven't tagged for yet! I'm just so, so excited for this project! It's:
> 
> 1 - MY FIRST LONG, SERIOUS STORY!! LOOK AT ME GOOO  
> 2 - The first thing I have with an ACTUAL STORYLINE to it. Like, I have a whole plot for this thing! It isn't going to be super long, do not fret or worry! But I am going to focus on it for a while, for I have fallen in love with this concept. This is an AU of an AU, too, by the way! If you want any info on the AU I'm drawing from, read the end notes!
> 
> OK SO THIS PART HAS SPOILERS, ALBEIT MINOR
> 
> Basically, an Urutau is what I think y'all call a potoo, and in Brazilian folklore, it's mostly regarded as Literally Cursed. Like, one of the mythos - I don't remember if it's Brazilian or south american in general, forgive me lol - is that it's a child who was abandoned in the woods by its mother, and thus, turned into a bird, as that is what abandonment does to you on most cases, and now cries "ay mama" every night
> 
> The name means "ghost bird", but it's also called mãe-da-lua, or moon-mother/mother-of-the-moon. I LOVE these guys. I love them so much. Can you smell it? My weird obsession with birds? Anyways, I love these lads' weird, weird little faces. Please do research on them, their cries are beautiful! And also like. Really fucking creepy. Like if I heard that at night while camping out id spontaneously shit myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! THIS IS QUEASY, AFTER HE WROTE THIS WHOLE THING
> 
> I do not like this story. I learned from it, and maybe you can learn from it, too, but I don't think anyone with a high standard for content would actually LIKE this.
> 
> I enjoyed working on it, though, and it helped me tackle some personal matters, in a way!
> 
> So, in short, read it if you want some at most below average fanfiction quality and some tips on things you should NEVER EVER EVER do.

  


Oh, how his heart picks up.

The breaths, curling out like plumes of smoke, feel like animalistic victory instead of the pure cold.

For once in his life, Zuko had done it _._

He is trembling, but it is not from the weight on his back. Next to what it means, his prey is nothing.

There is nothing, nothing but the white around him, the ever-lasting expanse of snow and rock, the cruelty of the north.

And through the nothingness he makes his way, smiling through the fabric that covers his face.

In the grasp of clawed hands, Zuko has the Avatar himself.

The boy had saved him, just not in the way he had hoped for.

There was no cruelty in bringing the cause of all that distress, all that madness, to justice.

There was no cruelty in holding him close, as close as the pride he can feel blooming.

Like the flowers back home, the ones Ty Lee would braid into his hair, the ones Azula would ripen and burn.

Soon, he will see them again.

Soon, when he gets out of that place, out of the desolate, bland nothingness.

Like the numbness in brief moments of clarity, like the feeling of fever deep in the pits of his stomach.

The coldness is overwhelming.

The meditating monk's body is turning into ice, slipping from the grasp of his hands.

  
  


But he has long since broken from fever, his mind is clear enough to know that that's silly.

  
  


Isn't it?

Nonetheless, a part of him, willfully stupid, wants to curl up into a ball, sleep away the snowstorm.

Persistence feels futile.

  
But he's come this far, and he will go even further.

He has the avatar.

He has the work of three years, on his back. He may not, and he may never.

For the time, he will revel and preen, he will smile with his prey within the grasp of his talons.

The pain threathens to knock him down with every burst of wind.

He'd never thought those to be the things that would lull him to bed, he'd never anticipated how forced his victory would feel.

Zuko needs no warmth, though, and he is yet to earn care.

  
  


Ants crawl under his skin.

His breaths puff out, dragon smoke or a funeral pire?

In the distance, he sees a cavern.

Any place is a nest, for a desperate enough bird, lost in migration, lost in thoughts and in translation.

It feels like the blink of an eye, before he enters it, sets a fire into motion.

Sparks of a victory that refuses to leave him alone.

Nobody will find us here, the boy reasons to himself as he lays down, facing his prey, right next to the tiny flame that sputters out in their hiding place.

  
And, as he numbly accepts that he is to sleep, that no one will ever find them here, that when morning comes, the snow will give out and he'll go home, one last cough escapes the little soldier boy, as he drifts off, far, far away.

  
In his numb, frozen sleep, prince Zuko dies.

  
.

.

.

And bursts into flames.

-

  
“Aang and Zuko cannot be far.” says Sokka. That is the very moment Yue truly understands. It's her duty, even if she wants to renounce from it, to give up and pray and beg that her burden fall upon another person.

  
A part of her knows that that day had always been incoming.

  
Of course, she knows their plan, now. She knows that, are they - her tribe, her people, her friends, all these people who believe she is worth protecting - to fail, she will pay the price.

  
She knows it is selfish, maybe evil of her, to wish to live, even with the curses that would come her way were she to refuse to sacrifice herself. She is aware that, to any other, it would be a blessing, to see it and hear it, to live what she considers a half-life, plain and sheltered against all that makes it _worth it._

  
But awareness does not mean understanding, and understanding doesn't mean acceptance.  


Yue isn’t stupid enough to ignore Her calling. The whispers of the moon-mother, her yell in the darkness.

  
So, Yue looks for her one hope: the Avatar, Aang. For that selfish part of her wishes that maybe, with his help, the inevitable can be delayed.

  
She ponders, from the bison’s back - is it truly blessed? Truly unaware? She hopes it is. She doesn’t wish that burden on anyone, anything else. 

  
She hears Sokka and Katara yell out, as a beam lights up the sky behind them.

  
_You are to go soon, soon, soon_ , chants the moon-mother, from where, she doesn’t know.

  
It’s been a long time, since Yue worried about where its - her - yelling came from. 

  
Is it inside her head? Is it _everywhere_? Why cannot she share the burden with anyone else? Why can't anyone else see the shapes in the dark? Hear the screaming? Feel their hands, cold and wet, as they choke her day after day?

  
Their friend is found and, despite not caring much for him, she cannot keep the smile from her lips.

  
He has just awoken, now. Still tied, with a confused frown on his face. He doesn't dare to move - perhaps he can't.

  
She ignores it. He brings hope, after all. 

  
(The desperate, starved thing that brought her parents to condemn her with the moon’s screaming in the first place.)

  
But then, she sees it.

  
It looks like a moon-mother. Not _the_ moon-mother. Just... an animal. A little squinty thing. Small, limp on the cave floor.

  
Its wings are splayed out, almost like its dead. Its big eyes are closed, and she fears for the worst.

  
Is this a sick reminder, she asks, but the moon-mother, Tui’s other facet, does not respond. The Tui that they worship is a beautiful, lovable creature. The moon-mother is what Yue thinks, knows she is. The moon-mother is Yue’s name for the real Tui, the Tui that only answered to her call once, just so she could be cursed.

  
The creature is limp, but alive. Its breath comes out in shallow, even - somehow controlled, even in its sleep - huffs and puffs.

  
Yue cups the left side of its face, which is featherless and withered, covered by an old burn that scarred quite terribly. Its face looks... wrong, to the moon. That wasn’t one of the Avatar’s pets, before the kidnapping. She would’ve recognized it, otherwise.

  
“Yue, what’s that?” she obscures the left side of its face, almost unconsciously. The moon-mother tells her to take it.

  
She doesn’t know what it wants to do with this creature. She is the moon’s loyal child, and she will never speak an untrue word against her master, her savior and patron. 

  
But honesty isn’t praise, for things like her.

  
“A bird.” she says. _Not quite,_ the moon whispers, but doesn’t tell her to kill it yet. That terrifies Yue. “I’ve never seen one like this before.”

  
 _That is a lie. Dirty liar, dirty, dirty lies_. Indiscernible whispers. She doesn’t care for them.

  
“Okay. Aang, check. Weird bird, check.” says Sokka, matter of factly. 

  
“Sokka, where’s Zuko?” asks Katara.

  
“Oh. _Shit_.” ooh, a swear, thinks the part of Yue that’s still just a child, sheltered away from the world, still laughing over infantile humor. "He's behind me, isn't he?"

She gives a quick check, pretending to be lighthearted about the situation. He must be relived, she reasons. _Allow him the humor, let it last_ , says the mother, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Nope, captain!" she salutes, like it's natural.

“Well, it’s better that he’s gone.”

  
“He must’ve left.” to where, she wonders. 

  
If anyone sees the burn on the creature, even as Yue cradles it gently (she pities its fate, for she knows that nothing she touches lasts for long), nobody says anything.

  
-

  
Zuko wakes up feeling.... Weird. Wrong, but somehow _right_.

  
The first thing that comes to his mind upon gaining consciousness is that he’s never seen these colors before.

  
When he opens his mouth to yawn, he feels like it’s… Different, somehow. Too big. Too wide. He cannot feel his teeth, and isn’t that a _great_ sentence to hear upon waking up?

  
That is the first sign that something is wrong.

  
The second is that he’s back at the oasis.

  
The third is the fact that everyone is there, silent and tense, and, most importantly of all, none of them are attacking him. Weird, wrong wrong wrong.

  
He feels numb and stupid, and, upon reaching out his arm, he sees a wing.

  
And, upon seeing that, he gives out a sharp scream. Except it isn’t quite a scream. It’s a shrill, loud call. It isn’t a sound any human should, _could_ make in their right mind.

  
“You woke up.” says the white-haired girl, reaching out a perfectly manicured hand.

  
Zuko finds something that is right, when he pecks her. It feels so different, to move in that body, but it isn’t that bad. It’s useful. It grips better than human teeth. His beak appears to be... Hooked, somewhat. 

  
A part of him, in another world (in another state of mind) would be ashamed of biting, grabbing and not letting go.

  
“Ouch!” she shakes her hand, and, by association, him, as he is, quite literally, attached to her arm now.

  
A part of his stupid, literal-bird brain wants to swallow her hand. Like a bug, like food.

  
That is what she is. But no, wait, thinks the part of him that’s still human, that still _thinks_.

  
The avatar. His prey. The thing that really matters, right now.

  
He gives up his grip, falls onto the floor gracelessly, and stands up on two tiny legs. The talons don’t feel right. Too small. He should be a hawk. This isn’t a hawk.

  
And, as the realization truly creeps upon him, he understands the scope of the situation, finally.

  
He…

  
He’s _dreaming_ , isn’t he?

  
Because he doesn’t want to think of the other option. That isn’t true. It’s just a dream, and he needs to wake up.

  
“Where is the avatar?” he tries to say, but only that wicked, wrong shriek comes off.

  
He starts screaming, but not even him can understand what he says. Everyone is staring at him, now. 

  
“Sokka, it might be hungry.” says the girl, despite the clear - albeit not significant enough, he sees - damage to her hand. “Do we have any food?”

  
Oh. He is hungry, in that dream of his. He’d never thought he’d feel hungry in a dream, of all things, but call it a nightmare and he’s done.

  
“I have some jerky, but not for him!” he says. Zuko can’t see his face properly, he’s standing up. “No jerky for jerk bird, until he apologizes!”

  
“Sokka, that’s a bird.” says the savage girl, shaking her head in exasperation. She’s beside the avatar, who is strangely silent, obscured by her shadow.That’s clearly why he didn’t see his prey before.

  
Better late than never.

  
He cannot fly, but he can hop, awkward on these odd limbs of his, like a newborn deer-moose. Maybe if he gets to the avatar, it’ll play out like one of the nightmares with father.

  
_(The ones that started after the South Pole. The ones that always left him shaking, that sometimes made his scar ache a bit, like it was fresh again._

  
_The ones he doesn’t want to talk about, because they were embarrassing, and they always ended up with Zuko at the deck, until Uncle woke up and came there to keep him company._

  
_They didn't talk a lot, about it or at the time or anything, but he knew Uncle had nightmares too. But he also knows that Uncle had a reason to have nightmares, and that he never wanted to cry after them.)_

  
Reliving them is inevitable. _Better do it now, so I wake up sooner_ , he thinks. Knowing that, in the real world, his prey is on his grasp, it comforts him. Readies him for the inevitable.

  
So, he approaches the avatar. He’s meditating, still.

  
And then, right as he is reaching him, ready to stare into his eyes and see them open into demonic white lights, not like any oil lamp he’s ever seen, not like anything that a human should have- and see Father take his place, a loud bang is heard.

  
Right as the garden door opens, and Zhao barges in, Zuko realizes…

  
This isn’t a dream.

  
-

“And they will call me Zhao, the moon-slayer!” Yue goes dizzy.

  
The screaming is so loud, too loud, so overwhelming, and everything she feels scratches her, bites her. The grass feels like blades, her clothes feel like chains, her tears feel like they're boiling.

  
The world contorts into ugly shapes, the moon-mother yells and _yells and yells and yells and yells and yells and yells and yells_ and it won’t stop _yelling_ and screaming and now Yue doesn't know who's screaming, it or her-

  
-

  
The girl won’t stop screaming.

  
He thinks she’s dying.

  
And Zhao is saying that it’s on their nation’s best interests, and nobody is stopping him.

  
And Zuko knows it’s treachery.

  
But he can’t think straight, not with the girl’s endless pleading and screaming, with how she’s falling apart as Zhao holds that agnidamned fish-

  
He isn’t very smart, or even in a good state of mind. However, he knows that there’s something between that koi and the girl and the red, bloody moon.

  
So, Zuko attacks. To say he had a plan would be a lie. All he has is a sharp beak, wings that don’t work, and no protection on Zhao’s face.

  
He can’t talk, so there is no way he can firebend, in that state. A part of him knows what he is, but that part of him is tucked far away into the crevices of his mind.

The world is red, red like his anger, as he screams and lunges.

It is dishonorable. It is a violation of the balance of this world. He’s fought Zhao before, he’s won against him before.

  
So, he opens his wings, despite knowing that he won’t be able to take flight.

  
The world stops for a second, as he attacks with all his might-

  
And that’s his mistake.

  
“What.” spits Zhao. “Is the meaning of this?”

  
The fire doesn’t burn him, but the kick still hurts.

  
Of course he’d fail. Nothing more in character for him.

  
He should’ve expected that. Zhao holds up the fish, gasping for air in his grasp, flailing more weakly by the second.

  
“Zhao, stop!” yells Uncle, far too late. He wants to take Uncle, too, fly them both back. That primal part of him longs for the safety of his flock, to be far, far away. “This is an affront to the balance of our world! Don’t do it!” 

  
“You do not know what you talk about, you treacherous fool!” Zhao screams, and then, he realizes something, and laughs. "I will show you what is the balance, General Iroh!"   


Zuko doesn’t know what he’d expected himself to do, or what he’d expected Zhao to do.

  
He just knows that the fire wasn’t it.

  
Because now the fire is consuming the fish, and a part of his mind wants to scream and run and fly away back to his nest where the fire cannot reach-

  
The world goes gray and black.

  
The moon is gone, but the girl won’t stop screaming.

  
Her voice is growing hoarse, but comfort isn’t in his blood, and there is nothing he can do for her.

  
He just has to try again.

  
_And again._

  
_And again._

  
He is always refuted, but her screaming muffles his thoughts, and it isn't like he had a plan for that anyways.

  
And yet, by the fourth time - he has nothing else he can do, because nothing in him knows how to turn back and become himself again -, something else is heard.

  
The avatar. 

  
“There’s still something I can do.” says his prey, his voice childish and small. What is he hiding? Does he revel in not being the priority at the moment? Does he know Zuko will get him once his competition is gone?

  
And he walks. He walks to the pond, right in front of Zuko.

  
A part of him longs to revel in his hunt, gain back his prey, but he knows that that is not the priority at the moment.

  
And, as he steps into the water, bright blue pulses into their world.

  
The hoarse screaming ceases on its entirety, as something huge rises from the water, into the world.

His prey may be small on its own, but that thing…

  
It isn’t.

  
It rises, and it brings color back into the world, bright blue pulses taking the moonlight's place in the sky, as it rises up and up and up.

  
The world stops.

The world stops, until it starts rampaging.

-

  
Zuko wants to help, but he cannot do anything about it, he cannot shift, he cannot be himself again, and he does not know enough about whatever afflicted him to do something about it at the moment.

  
Uncle doesn’t even notice him. Either that, or he does not _recognize_ him.

  
He is graceful, fending off any remaining soldiers. It is treacherous, but he isn’t putting them down. Not really, and not definitively.

  
The world is all over the place, all is too bright and too much, and Zuko cannot do anything but _watch_.

  
That new body of his, it is a curse upon him. He wishes that were a dream.

  
Her screaming stopped a while ago, he’s even checked on her - she isn’t dead, but nearly there -, but it’s all too loud.

  
His people - his flock, the first he's ever had, before his disgrace fell down upon him - are all dying.

  
He is tired, but he springs up and runs around, aimlessly trying to trip them up, to stop them in any way, so that they do not get themselves killed.

  
And, as he hops over a tiny bridge, he sees Zhao.

  
He doesn’t want to kill one of his own. That man shouldn’t be the exception. But he’s the reason the world is like that, now. He’s the reason all is broken.

  
He has disrupted the balance, he has defied all honor.

  
And Zuko can’t do anything but inconvenience him, but simply squawk and scream and-

  
The ocean, lit up beneath them, rises into a hand.

  
Zhao, despite his attempt to run away, is snatched away, swiped cleanly, sucked into the ocean.

  
The world is left standing as it was before.

  
-

  
When Yue next wakes up, she is all alone.

  
They’d… Left her there.

  
She can move now, but it’s all sluggish, and the world is too slow and too fast and too loud but she cannot hear the moon-mother so all is too _quiet_ -

  
And, as she gets up, she sees the destruction.

  
The world is gray, not just early-morning gray, but ash-gray, and the sea is too still.

  
The screaming has stopped.

  
The moon-mother - no, Tui - is not there anymore. She isn’t pressing against Yue’s head, now. She isn't screaming, or whispering, or even watching.

  
She’s never felt free before, so she doesn't know what this feeling is.

  
It’s such an odd sensation, this clean-head-ness of her. It...

  
Is this little wicked thing, that gives her strength. She cannot run, she cannot do much but to limp around aimlessly. But she feels strong, in a way she's never felt before.

  
She looks for Sokka, and she looks for Avatar Aang and Master Katara. She looks for anyone, but the garden is empty.

  
That old man from before, the one with the Moon Killer - his name be forsaken, now - stands at the garden gates. His cloak hangs on, mostly burned, its color dulled by the dead colors of the early morning.

  
“Princess Yue, are you okay?” he doesn’t turn back to ask her. 

  
Her attempts to speak, to say anything, only result in soundless gasping, like a fish out of water.

  
He faces her. His face is kind, withered by time, carved away like stone by the years. For a fire nation man, his eyes look almost kind.

  
And isn’t that something she’d never thought she’d say? That a fire nation person - an ash-maker, a soot-bringer - would look soft in that way.

  
“I am looking for someone, too.” he says “But you are not the only one who fears the worst. My child-my nephew, was to infiltrate this place, you see.”

  
She doesn’t know who the man’s child-nephew is, and she cannot sympathize with him, not really. She just nods.

  
Maybe it is unnatural of her, to have to force herself to truly care. But that isn't a person to whom she owes anything, or whom she holds any care for. It's just someone nameless, with no face or destiny.

  
“I will assume you are looking for your friends.” he says, like there's hope. “Would you come with me? You will be kept safe, this way.”

  
She doesn’t know why he is helping her, and she does not trust him.

  
Even without the moon’s whispering, she isn’t easily swayed.

  
They walk, silently, out of the garden, and soon she realizes its shambles look… Almost nice.

  
Yes, the pond was destroyed, the grass had withered, overly watered. 

  
But outside, damp weather and cold times aren’t the biggest problem.

  
No, the city that used to be her tribe, the Northern Capital, is in shambles.

  
Ice and snow, littering what was once her home. Many of the streets are inundated, the canals that used to run through them, tumbled down, flooding the streets with icy water.

  
She never thought she'd see that many corpses at once. They lie under rubble, or impaled by the snow, or float through the mess of canals and inundated blocks. Some are in the rubble of their machines, and some are but burned husks. A few armored carcasses have sunk to the bottom, and some pieces of armor, even some swords and spears, have floated up. It's almost a game, dodging them.

Is that a true ritual of coming-of-age? The dodging of icy-cold vessels? There is no victorious chorus, as she parades through the ruins, and she cannot even hear the spirits. The world stands in shocked silence, in a way that's almost respectful.

  
Corpses and more corpses. Blue and red alike, all washed away. The morning is rising, between the clouds, but not a single bit of pigment is back to that world she’d lived in for so long.

  
As they walk, the old man grows desperate, mindlessly pushing corpses, flipping them, looking through the piles of red and blue.

  
He pleads under his breath, prayers for someone…

  
Someone named Zuko.

  
Zuko, like the boy who had kidnapped the Avatar, she remembers.

  
But she cannot truly ask him anything. She can just accompany, and she can just look, gaze through the crowd of people to whom she will never be able to give a funeral, for any semblance of a face she’s never seen.

  
She fears looking into the faces, even if none of them wear the same clothes. She fears the same thing the man does, but she does not confront it. 

  
There is nothing that terrifies her more than the idea of her friends - the first people she’s ever been able to call anything akin to that - being amongst the crowd, the people that feasted with her, that she watched train and shop and play and build snow castles.

  
Because she longs to grab the thin strand of hope, to hold onto it, even as she starts identifying the faces, un-burying their names.

  
Father isn’t there, amongst the inundated rubble, and neither is master Pakku, and neither are the ships. That keeps her going, that keeps her marching, and dodging, and keeps her stomach's contents where they should be, because no matter how much of it that she sees, the carnage is still shocking.

  
And then, as she breathes deep and looks into the cloudy sky, she steps on something, and, despite the water being only up to her knees, she feels like she's drowning.

  
Yue had thought it had spared the children.

  
No, she hadn’t thought that. Not quite. She’d merely _hoped_ for it. For something that wasn’t terrible, that wasn’t just…

  
So _cruel_. Not even the moon-mother would directly harm a child. Not even on the nights where she screamed about past injustices, all the affronts ever made by mortals towards her.

  
But then, she’d stepped on that tiny, tiny arm.

  
Through the water, up to her knees, she could recognize a little face.

  
One of the little girls, the ones on the first healing classes. Seven, at most.

  
She has no voice to scream with, but her tears cascade down anyways.

  
The man catches up to her.

  
There are no words said, but a part of Yue knows he grieves alongside her, as he lowers himself down and closes the dead’s eyes, so they may never gaze upon what became of the world without them again.

  
After that, he grows more despaired. She can play out in her head, how he saw the dead child and imagined his in there instead.

  
“ZUKO!” he calls, and pleads, and she hears a sob, and this time it isn’t her-

  
And, when he screams, something screeches out from atop the ruins of what was once a beautiful, well-kept house.

  
She recognizes it. It’s the scared bird, the little creature from before. The little moon-mother, wide-mouthed, wild-eyed bird. In the daylight, its color reveals surprisingly plain. She doesn't know why she'd imagined it being red, red like the bloody moon, like the exposed, foul meat half-frozen around her.

  
It stretches out, curiously, its feathers puffed up from the cold. Its eyes are wide, and she knows that moon-birds have mouths that naturally look like smiles, but nonetheless, the creature seems to laugh.

  
Almost as if it recognizes the man. Perhaps it is some kind of pet? It jumps in the water, and tries to swim up to them, only to fail, instead floating, clearly not made to paddle like a duck.

  
While the animal clearly knows him, he clearly doesn’t.

  
Maybe it was his nephew’s pet? But he was clearly close to his child, so there’s no way he wouldn’t recognize an animal of his…

  
Despite not having any bond with it, the man reaches out, even if he has to swim, and even if it’s clearly uncomfortable to do so in his heavy armor.

  
Upon being grabbed, the thing settles in his arms. Maybe he resembles its actual owner?

  
But _who_ would bring their pet to an invasion like that?

  
She just… Doesn’t understand, at this point. For she sees nothing but carnage, but the reason they’d said that La is even more ruthless than Tui.

  
The man and her catch up, but she… Doesn’t want to keep going.

  
Sokka may not be gone, but she feels like a part of her is.

  
She is surrounded by other people’s mistakes, and the moon - _and the spirits, none of them are talking, none of them are screaming, it's almost as if she's normal oh-_ is dead silent, and she doesn’t know what this cruel, cruel world has in store for her.

  
And then, as always, a beacon of hope shows itself in the sky.

  
It’s the bison.

  
She waves at it, and tries to scream, but…

  
It’s flying away.

  
She can see Sokka from its saddle, and Katara - soon-to-be Master Katara, first woman to ever be a combatant in waterbending since their tribes had separated between north and south -, but…

  
They’re going away.

  
They didn’t even _see_ her.

  
“You may come with me if you wish to, Princess Yue.” says the man. "I would enjoy some company. I'm quite certain a raft fits two."

The bird pecks him, gently, not the way it had bit her last night. 

"Three, then. Only if that is what your heart desires, of course."

  
It isn’t a permission, but a request. A request of an equal, of someone who will grieve as much as she does.

  
Her friends are gone, and all she knows is dead.

  
Yue has nothing left to lose.

  



	2. The tiniest lifeboat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The raft days of our gang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK SO trigger warnings for this: throwaway lines of suicidal tendencies and general self destructiveness.
> 
> This chapter is mostly like... Introspection, for our two characters. It's ground I need to set up on, for the actual plot to start. But don't you worry, the pace will pick up!

  
  


Zuko is cold. His fire is gone, and he can't feel the sun.

  
  


He’d never felt such terror.

  
  


The knowledge that it is gone, it haunts him.

There is no warmth inside of him. His terror is cold, and the world is cold, and Zuko is _useless_. Because of course.

  
  


Because for Zuko, usefulness was never an option. He is a disgrace , and he knows what happened to him.

  
  


He hates it. 

  
  


He had his prey, for a brief minute, and then...

  
  


And then he _died_.

  
  


Because he was too weak. 

  
  


But Zuko has a second chance. He will do better this time. 

  
  


He will be so good, that father will take him back. Because he will bring the Avatar, and he will bring glory and order back to his nation. With the rebirth of the phoenix, there comes his hope.

And, when he brings the Avatar back, when he breaks him free, nothing bad will happen again.

  
  


Because really, his nation, they're right.

  
  


The Avatar is a disgrace.

  
  


It’s because of him that this all happened.

  
  


That monster in human skin, he willingly did this.  He killed all of these people, with the aid of the ocean spirit.

  
  


He will dwell on that later, because they need supplies, so they can last the long journey through the sea. Of course, if the sea is not to kill them.

  
  


That goes unsaid, not by any language barrier, but by common knowledge. They all saw it.

  
  


They’re all seeing it right now, the fallout of the boy who asked Zuko to be friends. 

  
  


And, as they look through the blood-soaked snow, and close the eyes of every last corpse, Zuko realizes what he wants. He wants to help.

  
  


Yes, those are barbaric people. But they didn't deserve to suffer through the consequences of the Avatar and Zhao’s actions.

  
  


They used to say that the spirit of the earth brought justice, but all he's ever seen him - it - bring is chaos and misery.

  
  


Is it just at all?

He keeps watch, longing to see any hint of movement, any puff of a breath in the cold morning air.

  
  


But, as the sun rises above them, hidden behind the clouds, Zuko's hope only falls more and more.

  
  


He'd always known the reality of war. It's been there since he was born, the expectation that his family, that his nation was the one to bring back glory to the world. 

  
  


But a part of him had never realized how many were lost.

  
  


As they drift through, trying to un-bury anything from the rubble, the smell of the aftermath only grows. It's disgusting, foul, something otherworldly terrible. The sheer silence of it makes something inside of Zuko grow raw, scraped.

  
  


They cannot even give them a proper burial. The sea is taking them, the wet of the melting snow and the cold-cold-cold ocean is keeping them. 

  
  


Would it really be the honorable thing to do, to blow their ashes into the air? To cremate them? Is that what they would want?

  
  


Zuko doesn't know.

  
  


Zuko doesn't know anything, and he can’t ask anyone, because he’s dead and yet locked in that miserable body.

  
  


_ (And to think that, as a child, he thought phoenixes were of any good. His mother’s stories had dissuaded him, indeed.) _

  
  


He wants to know, and he wants to fight, and, above all else, he wants to keep that from ever happening again.

  
  


Because a part of him, deep down, knows that isn't the last time the ocean is going to leave disaster on its wake. It isn't that deep, really. La's always castigated the archipelago, always left areas, sometimes whole islands, in shambles during the more humid months.

  
  


But he wants to stop it.

  
  


And if that is a disruption of the balance, then so be it.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  
  


“You have nothing left to lose”, she’d told herself, earlier that day.

  
  


Nothing left to lose but her sanity, clearly.

Because she's never been in a world so silent before. Was it always that awkward? How had she never realized it before, then?

  
  


Yue’s never actually interacted with anyone without any instructions.

  
  


In the raft, the world is still. They'd spent their fair share of time on the lookout for supplies, before improvising the after-mentioned raft, a thing that barely fits them, and its paddles, to bring them along to the Earth Kingdom shores. 

  
  


A part of her is yet to realize that they’re really leaving.

  
  


The man - General Iroh, albeit retired, he'd introduced himself as they foraged earlier - holds out a silent vigil. They sit back-to-back, in the tiny excuse for a lifeline. A part of her, apathetic, wants to hold her eyes closed and soak her feet in the bloodied water, just so she can stretch her cramped legs.

  
  


But she can't. Closing her eyes would be abandoning the consequences of her own actions. She should've managed, should've reigned it in, should've given herself up instead of just being a coward.

  
  


So, as they drift through the current, further and further away from her city, she scans through the wreckage, the ships loaded with corpses. And she realizes, that if she wants to be better - and she does! -, she must do more than admit to her mistakes and castigate herself for them.

She must do better.

  
  


There is an enormous fleet of them. _Was_.

  
  


It is horrifying, how their deaths only grow more and more brutal. Men and women alike, she realizes, have been charred- no, cooked alive - in pools of boiling water that, when she reaches out to touch, are still warm to her curious hand.

  
  


Was it friendly fire? Was La simply that angered upon the death of his beloved?

  
  


A part of her wonders if she would be brutal enough to do the same, upon a loved one’s demise.

  
  


Yue realizes she doesn’t know. As much as she’d despised the moon-mother, she’d listened to her. She has followed her to the end.

  
  


There are more than a few of her men, amongst them. She misses not being alone.

  
  


She tries to tell herself that she isn’t. 

  
  


_ (She’s not very good at lying) _

  
  


The bird sleeps atop their improvised "mast", its head tilted upwards, its body slim and camouflaged in a way that fails, only making it stand out from the processed wood of the mast, and the man, Iroh, breathes deeply behind her.

  
  


She can hear the man’s soft, muttered prayers, almost inaudible. He pleads with his Patron, Agni, so that the spirits of the dead, his and hers alike, may find their way through the spirit world.

  
  


And then, he reaches his nephew.

  
  


"Please aid my nephew, so that, in his next life, he may find redemption." that sparks her curiosity, in a morbid way. It also awakens the bird, who puffs up and drops itself down.

  
  


The creature is unfortunate and graceless, but also adorable, with its enormous, bulging yellow eyes, as it hops its way into the man's lap.

  
  


She can't see what it does there, but the man huffs a tiny chuckle, and then, she feels it climb up, against her hair.

  
  


The man lets out an ouch, as it makes its way up his head. She lightheartedly hopes it won’t make its… Necessities, on the man’s head, before realizing that the animal is grooming him.

  
  


And then, as she gazes out into the sea yet again, her hopefulness fades as she sees something, landed on a piece of ice, thrown haphazardly.

  
  


No, someone. 

  
  


Someone Yue used to know, so, _so_ deeply. His betrothal necklace chokes her upon the sight of his bloodied head, half-smashed against the mossy stone.

  
  


His emotionless dead eye stares through her, a mouth half-open, circled with dried blood.

  
  


Yue loses her stomach’s contents.

  
  


"What was his name?" he asks, somehow knowing. 

  
  


"Hans." her hoarse voice is barely audible, over the sea and her heaving and the bird's heavy breathing, as they drift past aimlessly. "Oh, _Tui_ -"

  
  


The funeral rites continue.

  
  


Her old life is buried at sea.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


Zuko must feed his flock. He doesn’t know where the urge comes from, that newfound animal part of him, or himself, the person he used to be.

  
  


But, at the same time, he wants to sleep so much that it's astonishing. It's against Agni's blessing, but his body aches with exhaustion, so deep despite the sun.

  
  


It may be the day, but it hurts him to be awake, and he knows he isn’t a fire bender anymore, but he still doesn’t want to so shameful to Agni’s name.

  
  


He wants to call to the skies, to beg them to answer to him, to tell him _why_.

  
  


Why _what_ , though? Why he had been forsaken with a luck so scarce it hardly allowed him to survive? Why couldn’t he have died instead (except he did)? Why did he feel like everything that made him himself was gone?

  
  


But he can’t ask anything, can’t even beg or plead, for all that will come from his mouth is screaming.

  
  


Uncle's stomach rumbles, and so does the girl's. Yue. _Princess_ Yue, because of _course_ , it wasn't ironic enough, was it?

  
  


Three royals, stranded on a raft, drifting through the ruins of both their empires. The crowd of corpses greet them, their impaled, deformed carcasses stiffly wave at them.

  
  


He cannot question anything, but he can keep providing. He knows he can do something, even if that isn’t a lot. 

  
  


They're migrating with him, now. He's in charge, and, albeit not the best one, that will be his nest. So he just hops down, onto the corner of the barely-there raft-nest, and looks into the sea, seeking prey, of any kind.

  
  


For anything that he can feed to Uncle Iroh, and for anyone that accompanies their group on their journey. He knows Uncle looked for supplies, and so did he, but he lacked the practical knowledge to sneak under the rubble, as he's never done anything like that before, which resulted in their failure to find much of anything.

  
  


He doesn't want to look, he’s too tired, but there’s no choice for him but to keep vigilance and look for what may keep their vessels fed through the rough days that are to come.

  
  


Zuko is upset at his reflection. Logically, he knew he had kept his scar. But it looks even more grotesque, in a face that isn't meant to be his.

  
  


Is it dishonorable, to stop his watch, to stop scanning for all the people he could've known? He doesn't need to ask himself that, he knows it is. But he does so anyways.

  
  


His companions aren't the only hungry ones. He feels it, too, the pain in his stomach, persistent and long-lasting.

  
  


But they don't even have fish, and flies are yet to swarm the dead (why do the bugs sound like an option? He hasn’t gone crazy yet, he knows of that). And he has to do _something_ . He doesn't need to eat, he can go without food, he’s a phoenix, but Uncle and the girl? Uncle is just human, and so is Yue.

  
  


He focuses on the water, but doesn't see much beside his own reflection.

  
  


Maybe the fish are fleeing? Maybe they're just scared of the wood planks? Or maybe, just maybe, they're a bit deeper?

  
  


There is something. Something right below the surface. His vision isn't great, but he can see it. Something tiny and gray, that seemed big to him, distorted by the water's surface.

  
  


So, Zuko breathes in deep, and sinks his head in. He cannot afford to be sneaky, but perhaps, if he is swift enough, he will get food for Uncle and the northern princess. 

  
  


The saltwater stings his eyes, but the fish doesn't have time to run - no, swim -, even if its school does.

  
  


It is small, in his too-wide mouth, but it’s alright. It will have to be enough. But the fish won’t give up without a fight, as it flops around aimlessly.

  
  


As Zuko removes his head from the water, he remembers the knife, how it said that, from its spot, on his nest (the real one, the one that mattered in the end), on the ship-nest, everywhere he'd been. An eternal reminder. Do not give up without a fight, it told him.

  
  


And give up without a fight isn't something he plans to do. For he is the thing reborn from his own ashes, and if he has to set himself on fire, then so be it.

  
  


Uncle grabs him and pulls him back. He looks upset, but it's alright!

  
  


Zuko's gotten food for him, still alive, suffocating inside him.

  
  


He drops the fish on Uncle's legs. He will trust Uncle to cook it, or at least butcher it in some way, despite the tiny, persistent part of him that tells him to chew the fish up and puke it in his mouth.

  
  


It's a good riddance, that he won't have to feed himself. 

  
  


It's awkward, and kind of silly, but Uncle has a fish now, so that's a win for team "stranded on a raft without enough supplies".

  
  


Oh no, the girl. He forgot her, so focused on feeding Uncle. He forgets that he can't talk, and tries to ask her if she is hungry.

  
  


He's shivering, now. His head is cold, because the poles are cold, and, for a second, he forgets he can’t bend anymore.

  
  


"I thank you for the... Fish, but I fear you may need this more than me." his uncle says. The fish is tiny on his hand, and it's weird, because it seemed big to Zuko. Like, not actually big, of course. 

  
  


Just... Bigger than that tiny excuse of a sardine, that’s being nudged towards him.

  
  


It will be a while, until he truly gets used to that new body of his, isn't it? Because he could swear it was decent, when it came to size.

  
  


It's alright. Zuko doesn't need it, so his opinion doesn’t matter but Uncle does. He nudges the fish back at him

  
  


But he isn't grabbing it.

  
  


The old fool doesn't budge.

  
  


Alright, then, thinks Zuko. If he has to puke it into his mouth so he understands that he needs to eat, then that's what he will do-

  
  


But... The girl.

  
  


He just... He has to dive again, right? Then they can both be fed. Maybe Uncle will only eat if she's fed too. Frankly, he's too tired to know.

  
  


No part of him doesn't want to do it, but right as he's about to do it again - maybe change it so that he's like, Uncle puts a hand on his back.

  
  


"No. Don't do it, you probably won't get much else, especially in the cold like this."

  
  


It's almost like Uncle understands him. But he can't. There's no way he does. Because nobody understood him when he was alive, when he was human. When he was Zuko.

  
  


He tries to shrug the hand off, and go under there again, to scan the increasingly turbulent sea one more time, but this time, the girl stops him.

  
  


"No." her voice is hardly audible, barely a whisper, still hoarse from the conflict (from the screaming). "You'll drown if you go in right now. Wait a little more."

  
  


Uncle's warm breath blows him dry, but the cold still remains.

  
  


He never thought he'd mind the silence, but it's oppressing him.

  
  


As they drift through the ruins of his navy, they find a couple of crates.

  
  


Their salvation, more supplies. They didn't find quite enough, that he knew. Of course, Zuko didn't need it, he doesn’t need to survive.

  
  


His scream to paddle there comes out as the shrill bird call, but the instinct, the need to talk, to _be human_ , remains.

Uncle, with their improvised paddle, pushes their drifting excuse for a canoe along.

  
  


The corpses are less, now, but the sight doesn't leave his mind. He still thinks he'll see them, at every corner. Now, what he sees the most are pieces of armor, broken remains of supply crates, empty of their contents, which have been partially washed away.

  
  


Their tiny lifeboat is met with the pieces of cargo, the first things that weren't destroyed.

  
  


It's just a bag of jerky, and some of those hard tack, of course. There isn't much to be had, but it will last them, for now. There’s a _reason_ those are the normal rations for low-rank ships.

  
  


There is hope, even in the wreckage. But hope isn't enough anymore, is it?

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


Three days in. The city is behind them. It isn't a very fast method of transportation, but Yue will survive.

  
  


The biggest problem is the thirst. You see, they didn't manage to get any water tanks, or whatever or however it works in the fire nation ships. None of them are waterbenders, and thus, the only way Iroh found to desalinize the water takes a long time.

  
  


They don't have enough space to walk much around, making Yue fear that they will soon grow cramped to, for lack of a better term, hell and back. Well, they - at least she - already is.

  
  


But the above all their issues, the one that's been showing itself so much during the last few days, is the boredom.

  
  


The weird bird is mostly nocturnal. Which means that she has to stare at the Weird Log Baby all day long. Maybe it is mean of her, to wish to awaken it, just to see something, to talk, to play. She feels like a child.

  
  


But the vultures circling them aren't very entertaining, either.

  
  


To make that long, long, winding, harrowing tale quite a bit shorter and significantly less convoluted, Yue is so, so _boreeeddd._

  
  


She'd thought the tribe meetings were bad.

  
  


But now? At the middle of the sea? With barely enough to remain alive?

  
  


Yue is getting so much extra sleep. 

  
  


But Yue doesn't want to dwell on the fact that, despite the moon still being present, its spirit isn't. It's confusing.

  
  


But everything else is so tedious.

Her voice is coming back, and she's kind of tempted to scream, even if that means losing it again. Disturbing everyone else on the raft would be less boring than looking at the vultures, or wondering about the past.

  
  


She doesn’t want to think about the future, because she knows there isn’t any.

  
  


The old man, despite his patience, is clearly inflicted with the same suffering she is. Well, he must be.

  
  


His vigil has ceased, along with the last carcasses, ships and people alike, men and women, indiscriminately mashed together in that piece of horribly distasteful art that was the aftermath of the siege and crates, but his silence remains, so still, dead except for the occasional sniffle.

  
  


Ah, yes, the four C's, corpse, carcass, crate and-

  
  


And the brilliant idea she's just had.

  
  


"Can I braid your hair?" she sits up and asks. The man has long hair, and she can probably twist enough, change her position in the tiny lifeboat so that she's facing his back.

  
  


He looks at her from behind his shoulder, and sighs.

  
  


"While the top knot was once a symbol of honor in my nation, I have committed high treason, so feel free to undo it." She will take that as a yes, because she has no energy to brood, for she has been doing that for the teenage equivalent of an eternity, also known as three days.

  
  


She knows he grieves for his child. That does not mean she isn't about to give him a wicked hairstyle.

  
  


Braiding hair is nice. It requires a bit of concentration, and, usually, when it comes to the water tribes, a good amount of beads.

  
  


"I don't have any beads on me right now- No, wait, my _hair_." she's growing stupid, isn't she? Hell, she probably shouldn't even trust that man, except he's the only other survivor she's found. Her only lifeline, her only hope.

  
  


She, for the first time in a good while, unties her typical hairdo. It's intricate, for it is something that requires plenty of help with, and thus, is better suited for royals and priestesses - blessed people, they say, but all that know of them are aware that their gifts are nothing but curses -, who have either a lot of time on their hands, plenty of servants, or both.

  
  


Yue cringes at the knotted, increasingly greasy waves. That is the point where she realizes that, unless they manage to get to some island, or something akin to that (any place with a warmer sea would suffice, though), she is probably going for a trip on Lard Wave City, the capital of bad, horrible hair.

  
  


She shuns and shushes and shuts up the spoiled girl part of herself. Screw her hair, she's a fugitive (or at least like… Traveling with one. Does that count as a fugitive by association? Or is she just an immigrant? Actually, she shouldn't think about the legal implications of that, especially during the day.)

  
  


A couple of strands fall down with surprising ease, as she frees her hair from its elaborate prison. That had been her type of hairstyle ever since she was a child, and thus, she has always held a good amount of resentment towards it, as it had kept her from going outside to play more than one time.

  
  


She misses the snow, and the diners, and the people. She misses playing, being a little kid, no matter how frail people treated her as.

  
  


The memories bring a pang to her heart, a bit of homesickness that feels like a punch to the stomach. She ignores it, and tiesher companion’s hair.

  
  
  


A part of her thinks about telling him the meaning of every tiny braid, of how they are made, to suffocate him with knowledge, the same way the moon-mother's hands had suffocated the part of her that was a curious child, begging to know about matters beyond her comprehension, so many times.

  
  


But it's entertainment enough, for now, to be able to concentrate on that single thing. It might be petty and stupid of her to feel that boredom in the first place, to be so attached to her life as to miss it, but she will indulge in entertainment, for the moment.

  
  


Yue deserved all that befell upon her city, but her people didn’t. She should’ve died. Maybe she should end herself.

  
  


It wouldn’t be particularly hard. 

  
  


Maybe, just maybe, she should've been able to do something, to give herself up, to do anything, anything to keep them alive. Maybe it isn't too late.

  
  


She knows that there must be survivors. There must be someone, anyone, who took the ships, those old things, docked for so many years - for so many lifetimes - and ran away from the chaos.

  
  


She didn't see dad amidst the dead, after all.

  
  


And that raises a question, deep in her, that she wants to raise to the borderline- catatonic man.

  
  


"Did you see any of them?"

  
  


"Any of whom?" he doesn't pull back, even when her hands wring the hair and pull it a bit, even when the knots the tries to untie come out dry on her hand, completely ripped from the rest of his scalp.

  
  


"The survivors." she doesn't know if she should be hopeful or not.

  
  


Because, no matter how disgusted she was by the moon-mother, how repulsed she was upon seeing Tui's cruelty, her push and pull, uncaring for anyone else - anything else -, she didn't know how to be without her.

  
  


In the time she'd been without her... Guidance, she'll call it that, although the term is rather generous in her opinion, she at least had something to contradict.

  
  


But now, she doesn't know if she should or should not hang onto hope. If she should or should not trust. 

  
  


The truth is, Yue is ignorant, now. Ignorant and so, so alone.

´

_ (In the boring days, she could at least go to the oasis and, when she was still a child, ask for the fish to play with her. _

  
  


_ Of course, they'd ignore her, instead continuing their swim after each other. They didn't even eat, no matter how hungry Koi usually are, or how much or how tasty the food she brought was. _

  
  


_ She'd never been allowed any friends, as a young child, and, in her pre-teen years, she was too un-socialized, too much and too little, that even when she tried, when she rebelled and went to them, they didn't understand her. So she quieted down, and only did as other people told.) _

  
  


Yue's quietness, her soft, sweet mask, the quiet, gentle thing, it was but, as she'd said before, a mask.

  
  


A facade.

  
  


For Yue wasn't really a person, be it a good person, a bad person, or anything along those lines.

  
  


She was but a vessel to the spirits' will. 

  
  


She had never been her own own person before, and now, as she twists and turns General Iroh's hair, braids it in the way her father's servants (she'd never really had anything. She was but a conglomerate of other people's wishes, of status and screaming so loud ringing in her ears, no matter how much she tried to block it) taught her.

  
  


She omits anything that could be a top knot. It isn't really respect, it's just fear. She's only seem that man calm in his denial, she doesn't know the extent of his anger. Is she afraid or cautious? What is the difference?

  
  


And, most important of all, amidst all her mess of thoughts and braids, she is, to a certain extent, free.

  
  


That knowledge terrifies her to no end.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  
  


Zuko hates being awake at night, and he hates not being able to do much but sleep in the day.

  
  


He has the urge to scream, to yell out, to see if he can find anything in the ocean.

  
  


He's so energetic, and he has no room to hunt, to be active, to prey on anything but the occasional fish.

  
  


Their supplies are running out, and he knows Uncle suspects he may be indeed starving himself.

  
  


The hunger pangs are strong, and, despite being a bird, he feels dizzy sometimes. There's something wrong with him, he shouldn't have to eat.

  
  


But Uncle still gets him to eat a fish head or two, on some days.

  
  


He knows what he is. He is a phoenix. He shouldn’t have to eat, he shouldn’t even have to _sleep_.

  
  


He is something said to be blessed, to bring luck. Because of course it wasn't enough, to just be cursed, all his luck having been wasted on being born.

  
  


But now, he must not sulk.

  
  


He must find food. If Uncle wakes up to his fish already dead, he has no choice but to eat it. Or let it go to waste.

Zuko comes down from the semi-branch, and into what he has taken to calling the "stank area" of the ship.

  
  


Well, not really ship, it's barely even a raft.

  
  


A part of him wants to wake Uncle up, to do anything to get him to talk.

  
  


He isn't sprouting his proverbs anymore. He just... Sleeps all day long, and Zuko can sometimes hear him cry when the sun rises.

  
  


He doesn't know if it's hopefulness, or if it's a genuine thing, this feeling that they will soon reach land.

  
  


He should be able to fly, to go there, but he can't. He can't fly, and he can't even firebend.

  
  


Why do people say phoenixes are a good thing to be? 

Maybe he is just… Especially useless.

  
  


He was going to get some fish - a task he is proving himself good enough to do, sometimes, although his eyes seem to get a little more irritated every time he sinks his head.

  
  


The water-boiling pot sits in there, and, with his beak, he pushes it open. Uncle didn't discard the last bit of salt, from when he boiled the water off of the contraption.

  
  


Zuko is going to put the fish in there. He doesn't know a lot of making food, but he's pretty sure that salt's needed, even if it isn't pure.

  
  


But, as the lid crackles onto the wood board, the girl wakes up.

  
  


Her hair is down from the painfully uncomfortable-looking style it was in, and Zuko watches as she looks at him.

  
  


"Do you want to eat salt?" she asks, sleepily.

  
  


He wants to ask if she's okay, maybe tell her to shut up, but, of course, he is a bird. That is a rather important factor.

  
  


She looks like she's about to go back to sleep, as an awkward silence takes place, because she just talked to a bird like it would speak back.

  
  


Zuko shoves his head into the water. 

  
  


He has to do it a couple more times, until he finds a fish, another one of those lonesome, small ones. 

  
  


As he re-emerges from the water, fish in mouth, mouth in fish, the girl - he knows her name's Yue, of course, he didn't just remember it right now -'s stomach rumbles.

  
  


He gives up leaving the fish in the Great Salty Pot Of Salt, instead throwing it at her.

  
  


A part of him, albeit very small indeed, is tempted to eat it. But he doesn't need to eat.

  
  


He isn't even hungry anymore.

  
  


"Oh. Uh." she stammers awkwardly, catching the floppy fish and only squirming a bit "Thank you?"

  
  


He nods his head in an "you're welcome" gesture, not expecting her to talk to him.

  
  


"For a bird, you're pretty generous." oh, thanks, he thinks, even though he isn't really a bird.

  
  


"I miss my family." she says, fish in hands. A part of him wonders why she isn't cooking it, before remembering she is

  
  


1 - From the water tribes

  
  


2 - Not a bender anyways. If she were, she wouldn't be there in the first place, leaving their raft adrift for days. He'd like to think that no one can be self destructive to that point.

  
  


"And I miss Sokka, too." he doesn't quite remember which one of the barbarians is called that, or even if either of them is called that. 

  
  


"I even miss Tui, sometimes." But the moon is staring at them, from up there in the sky. It is no longer a bloated, bloody red, but it still looks like a wicked, blind eye, ravaged by infection.

  
  


"She gave me a purpose, even if it was to ignore her."

  
  


The humorous part of his brain thinks of the girl imagining the moon screaming at her, but he immediately dismisses the thought.

  
  


Yes, he does know that fish was the moon spirit in mortal form, but fish don't talk.

  
  


"Do you miss your family too?"

  
  


He does. He misses them so much. He misses sneaking around, near-flying through the rooftops with Azula (and isn’t _that_ ironic? The fact that, as a human, he could fly better than as this _thing_? Even if it wasn’t really flying?), even if she tried to make him trip and fall every time. He misses mom, with her gentle words, her reassuring whispers that he was blessed.

  
  


("Blessed with what?" he started asking her, after dad started to spend more time with him, to be honest with him "I'm lucky to be born, and that's all I am."

  
  


She never said otherwise, just got up, poked his nose and said:

  
  


"You'll get it when you're older." but he doesn't know what he's going to get. He never knew. He's just... Cursed, in his own right.)

  
  


He misses Father.

  
  


He misses having a chance to make Father proud.

  
  


And he misses the Uncle that wasn't so sad, in that constant vigil. He looks like the Uncle that came back from Ba Sing Se, the shell-shocked man, who had just lost his son.

  
  


His mouth makes a noise, and he doesn't even realize that low wail is coming from him. That is an yes, to her.

  
  


She reaches out a hand, and he dodges her attempt to take advantage of the vulnerability he showed. He was stupid, to show her that bit of himself. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. Even if Uncle tries to get him to eat tomorrow, he won’t, because he was just that stupid, and he needs to learn better..

  
  


If he wants to go back, he has to find the Avatar again. He's gotten him twice.

  
  


Zuko can get him another time.

  
  


And then, he will go home. He will make Father proud, and Azula is going to see him as an equal.

  
  


As true competition.

  
  
  


"Maybe I'm delirious for talking to you." but he's glad. He's glad to hear something, to do something. "But it’s just that, for a bird, you're really friendly."

  
  


Not how he would describe himself, he thinks, but go on.

  
  


"I think that we will find my family again." the fish has stopped flopping in her other hand "And maybe, when you can fly again, you'll be able to find yours, too."

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


The days pass.

  
  


The only way Yue knows they're making a move, a transition of any sort, is the climate.

  
  


It's getting _hot_. Scalding, to be precise.

  
  


She didn't know it got that hot. Well, she did. She had learned geography, albeit only a bit.

  
  


It had just... Never really checked, to her.

  
  


She hadn't realized, until she was cooking in her parka. Like the men on the sea, the ones that were the color of lobster-seals that had been stewing for hours on end.

  
  


The man barely seemed affected, at this point.

  
  


The moon-bird just slept. All day long. Either that, or he stared at the man with this odd look of worry on his face.

  
  


"What do we name you?" she wonders, out loud, to the bird.

  
  


Are brains cookable? Is she overreacting? Is she overheating? Are they in the tropical areas right now?

  
  


The bird opens one sleepy eye at her, breaking the illusion of being a literal log attached to their "mast".

  
  


"Uh?" Iroh asks, from where he had been sleeping. Despite their rations, he is rapidly losing weight, and his face has started to look gaunt, his beard unkempt.

  
  


"Well, we've been living together for a while" is this living? The angsty teen girl part of her brain mostly objects. "I think it's only fair that we give the bird a name."

  
  


Iroh looks at the bird. The bird yawns. She thinks it would be terrifying if it had teeth.

  
  


They all look at each other. Yue is hit with the sudden feeling that none of them, bird included, are very good at naming things.

  
  


"Wood?" she takes the wild, wild guess of literally the thing they're all on.

  
  


The bird gives her a glare. Are bird capable of spitting at people? Because that doesn’t matter, as the look is the equivalent to that.

  
  


Iroh gives a forced chuckle when she lifts her hands up in surrender.

  
  


"Stub?" the man attempts

  
  


_"Sir, what is that even-_ " She makes an impression of what she imagines the bird's voice would sound like, a gruff, rude-sounding thing, that she tried to make deeper but failed in no small proportion.

  
  


"Fine, fine" he says "Birdolino, then?"

  
  


She responds as the bird screams.

  
  


"Birdolino it is, then." but the creature only caws more indignantly as she speaks that.

  
  


"I don't... Think he likes that, to be honest." she admits, as it hops down and starts shaking its head like a little man. "Wait... We could call him Little Man!"

  
  


The bird takes in a deep breath, in an almost comedic manner, and opens his stupidly large, wide mouth. As his good eye budges out, he stops himself from screaming, instead taking on a look that says he's about to bite her again, which is a very fair thing a very fair thing.

"Fine, fine, Little Man Birdolino." she obliges "We get it, you love this name _that_ much."

  
  


"Let's oblige our friend, yes?" asks Iroh, not leaving her much room to disagree, surrendering to the might of Little Man Birdolino.

  
  


As they begin listing off increasingly complex names, Little Man Birdolino looks increasingly disappointed.

  
  


Like, not even angry. Just really disappointed. Especially after "Lord Cuddly Log of The Old Raft"

  
  


"Honey toffee?"

  
  


"Now I want some." she says, because crackers and over salted fish do not satisfy the Beast that is her appetite.

  
  


But there's no name the bird doesn't object fiercely to.

  
  


"We'll just call you Little Man Birdolino for now." Yue finishes, with a thumbs-up from Iroh, who is clearly as close to giving up as she is. A part of her brain wonders if the bunch of them are insane, especially as t he bird keeps doing his stupid, stupid crying sound.

  
  


"Junior?" asks Iroh, rubbing at his temple.

  
  


The bird, which will now be called Junior, stops objecting.

  
  


"Junior it is, then. "

  
  


Yue knows perfectly well that the bird is just tired, but jokes on him, he is now named Junior. Could’ve taken the name "Dangolet of City Town" when he had the chance.

"Junior, now eat." says Iroh, gently, even though the bird has been screaming at them for half an hour/a third of an eternity (Yue is working on her own time measuring unit). She realizes that this fire nation guy has more patience than she ever will, even as he sighs “Please.”

  
  


The bird, despite clearly being exhausted, proceeds to go back to his objections.

His open mouth, prone to screaming, is met with a block of sea biscuits. Yue is very proud of herself.  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


He’s been counting the nights.

  
  


It is exactly fourteen nights in, when Zuko sees land.

  
  


Zuko sees land, and it's been so long, he thinks he might cry.

  
  


But he doesn't have a lot of energy. Really, there isn't much for him, out there. His mind is intact, but his body is tired. No, exhausted. Completely destroyed.

  
  


They drift towards the earth kingdom shore, almost lazily, despite Uncle and Yue at the paddle.

  
  


It would be beautiful, the first thing not blue, the first bit of solid land he's seen in so long.

  
  


Blue gray gives way to what was supposed to be beautiful.

  
  


They are happy. Ecstatic.

  
  


“YES!” Yue shouts, gleefully, taking her turn to paddle towards the shore.

  
  


The joyfulness only remains until they get close.

  
  


The small port town is in ruins.

  
  


Whatever Tui's death did to La, it extended his rage for more than just the northern water tribe.

  
  


But why the earth kingdom? Why such unrestrained destruction?

  
  


And then, Zuko realizes something.

  
  


La's death is going to extend for more than just the water tribe, or earth kingdom, isn't it?

  
  


The angry spirit that was once the ocean, now fused to the avatar himself, is coming to the Fire Nation. To Zuko's home. To his _family_.

  
  


But, before all that, it's there. It's ravaging that land.  
  
  
  


And Zuko can't call himself honorable and not help, can he?

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love writing this so much, you guys,,,,,,,,, this brings me more happiness than any of my other projects, because it makes me think of more stuff than just "what would be funny to shove into this?"
> 
> anyways, i love you all! my tumblr is queasybuddy! please go in there and send me anon hate :3 :3 :3


	3. the law's gonna come for your firstborn son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from "bottom of the river" (it SLAPS and is a very zuko-y song to me, ESPECIALLY because of the line this chapter's named after)
> 
> TW for this one: death. lots of it. graphic-ish descriptions of injuries. yue's socially not-awkward demeanor.
> 
> look i swear to god this isn't angsty from this point onward. like, azula gets to have fun!
> 
> oh god that isnt good is it

  
  


There is no time to appreciate the feel of sand below their feet as they rush through the innundated landscape, nor is there anything beautiful to look at. No, all that there is is the hauntingly familiar sight, the purity of destruction.

  
  


There's screaming in the distance, and whatever that place used to be - maybe some sort of fishing town? - has collapsed in on itself, is completely destroyed.

  
  


"Did you hear that?" She asks. Just in case the screaming came back (it's only a question of time, it must be).

  
  


They aren't earthbenders, or even particularly strong from their weeks at sea, circled by persistent vultures with little food. But panic makes any man strong, and despair sends them running.

  
  


They track down the source of the pleas, someone with a hoarse voice, calling them in the silence. It's desolate, there, but what used to be a village is a bit further off that single house.

  
  


“HOLD ON!” She yells, her voice still hoarse. “WE’RE HERE TO HELP!”

  
  


This time, it seems almost eerie, the lack of corpses floating in the knee-high water. Shouldn't she be relieved? But would that relief come for the lack of bodies or for the fact that she just doesn't have to deal with them?

  
  


The destruction is clearly recent. That means that they're not too late.

  
  


She doesn’t have time to wait, or much more thought to give, as she drops down to the ruins, the source of the pleas. There are no spirits to save the person, like he begs for.

  
  


The water soaks her, and she wonders how much of it has entered the shack.

  
  


“It’s alright!” Yue shouts out, grabbing wood planks. It’s heavy, so heavy, to her weak arms and back, but adrenaline doesn’t give her time to properly feel the pain. Iroh joins her, soon enough, and with their combined strength, they start opening up a pathway.

  
  


Once the rift is wide enough, the bird, who had been perched on Iroh’s shoulder, gives his call and hops down, running into the ruins. He is an animal, she argues, but still thinks that maybe he is a bit smarter than he should be.

  
  


“Don’t worry about Junior!” she says, to whoever is in there. There's someone there, and she must be mindful of that.

  
  


Because there is someone whom she can save. She wants to repent. Will this be a gateway to forgiveness?

  
  


The person from inside the house talks to them, hoarse whispers of someone who has been yelling out for help for far too long.

  
  


"I'm Hao!" he tries to be loud, heard over the rubble as they move it from him.

  
  


"Do not talk, young man-" pants Iroh "You need to preserve air while we get you out of there!"

  
  


Yue has to repent. Maybe this is forgiveness. Maybe this is a chance, from the spirits.

  
  


They manage to open it up enough to reveal the face of a young man.

  
  


He is locked in place, with a leg smashed by what was once the roof of his own home. The water had infiltrated the house a fair bit, and Hao was on his forearms, clearly cramped. The moon-bird seems to try to push off the piece of wood.

  
  


He blabbers an infinity of thank-you’s and she tunes them out, not really replying, focused on pulling him out of there.

  
  


“Thank you so much- I’m-” His sobs get droned out with an unsurprising ease.

  
  


“Don’t worry about it, young man.” Iroh says, grabbing the man's side, even as he yells due do the movement. It's probably stirring up his bad leg, maybe a broken rib or two. “Brace yourself” he says, and nudges Yue on.

  
  


She’s never done that before, but that’s a serious moment, and she cannot be locked in hesitation, even if she doesn’t quite know how to do it. But she lifts the moldy, heavy wood, even if only for a second, just so Iroh can pull the man. It hurts.

  
  


But it’s only partial. The wood collapses down again, bringing Yue with it, her weak body giving out. The man screams, as his broken foot is further smashed. The sickening crunch of bone fills her ears.

  
  


She gets up, an awful sound coming from her mouth, although it isn’t quite as terrible as the sound the man makes, as his foot is yet again under the rubble.

  
  


She cannot dwell on her failure. The man’s still stuck, and Yue still needs to help him.

  
  


Her strength is vanishing, and it's so hard to lift, she feels like she's gonna collapse again, and her arms hurt so, so much, but she manages to pull at it enough for Iroh to get the man out.

  
  


Despite her weakness, her mistake, he still blabbers thank-yous, as she and the old general support him, one on each side. Junior hops along, and she has to take care not to step on him, as the bird leads the way.

  
  


“Oh spirits, this hurts so much-” she can hear him whisper, and, despite her fears, looks down on the man’s foot.

  
  


His whole leg is crushed, but the bones in the left foot, the one that was smashed a second time, are poking out, and blood leaks from it, onto the saltwater he's desperately trying to keep off the wound.

  
  


“I’m so sorry!” she apologizes, knowing fully well how weak it feels. “I- I shouldn’t have done that.”

  
  


“You saved my life!” he smiles, teeth gritted, before coughing up blood. It splatters on her face.

  
  


That is the sign they need, that tells them to stop, to let the man lay down somewhere. "Somewhere" is on the first stable thing that isn't covered in dirty water, a large boulder with a flat-ish top. She knows it isn't very comfortable, but it isn't like they have any pillows for him, as her parka had been long-since discarded on the raft.

  
  


“What’s your name again, young man?” Iroh asks, as he rips off a part of his cloak. “I’m Mushi, and that is my niece Ling.”

  
  


The names are fake. He's bad at fake names.

  
  


“I’m Hao!” he says, smiling with blood-red teeth. “And I thank you for saving my life!”

  
  


He laughs, but it’s forced, and she doesn’t even know why he insisted on faking it in the first place. She can't decipher the power game, and she has better things to bother with.

  
  


Such as...

  
  


"What happened to this place?" Of course, Yue knows, but "Ling" doesn't.

  
  


Plus, certainty doesn’t hurt. Maybe, a part of her hopefully thinks, this could be a coincidence. This could be not her fault.

  
  


“I didn't- I hadn't even- Well, a spirit attacked. I didn't even know those things existed, and then it came and brought the waves down and then- and then more and more and i tried going inside and getting my dog, but- I don't know why it happened.” and he sobs. 

  
  


“That is a tragedy, young Hao." Iroh lends the man his old cloak, ties a scrap ripped from it onto his still-bleeding wound, as he talks "But remember, one cannot prevent the birds of sorrow from flying overhead, but he can prevent them from building nests in his hair." 

  
  


The bandage is tied, the man's tears are dried. Yue feels like she has overstayed her welcome, so she starts awkwardly walking away. Maybe there are other survivors, she reasons. There is no reason to watch a man suffer.

  
  


“We’ll come back here later, friend.” Iroh says, patting the man’s shoulder, as he too gets up "Shout if you need any help."

  
  


And so, they walk away. Yue wonders, apathetically, if Hao will bleed out, or if infection will set in. It's a hard truth for her to accept, but it takes more than just a rescue to save someone.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


There’s a small group of them - other survivors, people from the area of the tiny town farther away from the brunt of the waves, but who have still been hit by the disaster -, a bit off from where they’d been.

  
  


Zuko is glad for that, despite the horrible pain in his head, that's ringing in his ears, making every move feel sluggish, delayed.

  
  


“Who are you?” is the first thing that comes out of a bearded man’s mouth, as he guides two women and a small child through the rubble.

  
  


“I’m Mushi.” Uncle lies. “We're here to help.”

  
  


“That’s good. You must be from next town over, right?” and, when Uncle is near answering, his mouth open to say something gentle and ambiguous “No need to reply, don’t worry about it. If you’re here to help, then do so.”

  
  


The knowledge that not all is done for propells him foward, past the unnatural urge to pluck his feathers, to sleep until he grows human again.

  
  


(to die)

  
  


The fact that his prey has not left pure death on its wake will be good enough, for the moment.

  
  


He hates himself, for not being able to help enough. But maybe he can keep going. Maybe he just has to leave, even if the concept of walking away from there - from them - feels wrong now.

  
  


But for now, help they do. It's pointless, of that he knows, but he still makes his way through the rubble, sneaks into every crevice he can find. Because there must be someone there. There has to be.

  
  


It can't be the end, he thinks as he makes his way through the rubble, as he finds only corpses and more corpses. It’s a brutal scene. The ones that weren’t dead on the streets were hit while they were sleeping.

  
  


It's so rare, to hear someone scream out when the group calls.

  
  


So many less than he'd hoped for, deep down. He can only glance numbly as they lift off the corpses, try to pick up whatever remains. He wonders how things soaked wet like that will be cremated.

  
  


In their shock, their faces turn blank, their eyes glossy with unshed tears. The villagers. Not him.

  
  


But then, Zuko hears a noise. High-pitched, a barely-there plea for help. A child. Someone who's alive.

  
  


A child is under the ruins of a house the four remaining fishermen are yet to get to. 

  
  


There is a conveniently bird-sized opening, where a glassless window had collapsed down in a way that made it into a convenient opening. Convenient enough for him, at least.

  
  


"Help!" a sob, heavy, audible breathing. "Please-"

  
  


He runs towards it, and wails. Those people haven't heard it, because they're stupid. Because-

  
  


He has no time to brood and think about the incompetence of them. He has better things to do, and he'll scream at them later.

  
  


It's dark in there. Crushed furniture, split wood with splinters that prickle his feet.

  
  


The girl’s cries are hoarse, but grow a bit louder when he approaches. And then, he realizes. He can't do anything but scream.

  
  


He has no choice but to get closer and wail as loudly as he can, until someone strong enough approaches.

  
  


Because really, Zuko can’t do much else. He’s useless, until she - just a tiny kid, with small, grubby hands that reach out to him. And he comes closer, for once. He doesn't know why. Maybe he's gone insane.

  
  


He’s just a bird. He doesn't know what comfort is there for her, to hold onto him, but if it's what he can do, then it's what shall be done.

  
  


The contact is uncomfortable. Zuko doesn’t like it, but he accepts anyways, little scritches and pokes from the hand that isn't hugging him close to a hammering rabbit heart.

  
  


It turns acceptable, as he hears his Uncle shout out from outside the house’s wet remains. The wave reached up to that place earlier, clearly, but most of the water was already gone, the only reminders of it the wet puddles on the floor.

  
  


“Anyone there?” The man sounds tired and weary, but not hopeless. That thing, fickle as it is, is the last one to die off.

  
  


“Me! I'm here!” the little girl shouts out, hoarse and soft from her weeping. "Please, help!"

  
  


Zuko cries out too, even if he doesn’t need to. Maybe it'll act as a comfirmation. But his cry comes out later than he'd thought it would, and lower than ever before.

  
  


Should he be glad?

  
  


The girl holds onto him, in that uncomfortably strong way children do, when they are yet to create self-restraint. 

  
  


But Zuko can't snap and bite her. It feels wrong, and, most important of all, it feels too taxing. Plus, he's the big one here. He has to be patient, he has to fight off sleep.

  
  


He caws out, delighted, as the men grunt and groan and pull. It isn't quite motivational, but it's what he can do.

  
  


The girl, despite looking distraught still, starts talking to him.

  
  


“Are you a spirit? I never saw a bird like you…” her phrases have a lilt, part accent and part her not being able to talk very well. Her r’s come out like l’s. It’s sort of endearing, despite Zuko's innate disgust of children.

  
  


He dislikes kids, and that’s why he lets her hold him, even after the men manage to get her out of the tiny space that her house became.

  
  


“Can you help mom?” she asks “She’s still sleeping.”

  
  


Zuko looks at the space that used to be a bedroom, mostly buried under the rubble. That's her sleeping place, he realizes. A plain mat, soaked over and over again, free of any remaining furniture, but a bedroom nonetheless. He can smell it now.

Copper.

  
  


She isn’t sleeping.

  
  


-

  
  
  
  


There are only eight survivors, in the end. Yue's counted them. Three kids, five adults of the village, that were either out and about at the time the spirit attacked, or that got trapped in their own houses.

  
  


She doesn't want to ask how many people used to live there.

  
  


Iroh’s let the other men light up a furnace. Would they still be paying attention to his stories, letting him brew them tea, if they knew where he came from?

  
  


The image of a general and the kind, calm old man, they don't match up. It's detached. Is he still the same person as he was back then? She doesn't know him very well. His grief is quiet.

  
  


(hers is in denial)

  
  


The men are silent, as they cook up food. A bit of fish, and a big pot of rice, all that they managed to find.

  
  


It’s unfair. The village wasn’t that big, of course, but the spirit had been undiscriminating. 

  
  


A part of her knew that wasn’t the last time the ocean would lash against the villages in his path. She didn't need anyone in her head to tell her it was her fault.

  
  


It was her duty to help, even if she wanted to be a coward, to run and to hide. To end herself. Maybe balance would be back, if she was just... Gone. But that train of thought makes no sense.

  
  


She probably shouldn't make everything about herself.

  
  


“Mrs! Mrs!" a girl calls, waving her hand near Yue’s face.

  
  


“Hey.” she smiles, politely. She wasn’t really meant to talk, but it isn’t like those people knew of Yue’s natural function, to be seen but never heard. She gives a thumbs up and a cool, crooked smile. "Ling here. I sure am Ling."

  
  


“How did you find Junior? He’s your bird, right? Where do you get a Junior?” it’s cute, how the kid, still hanging onto that bastard of a bird, thought his entire species was named Junior.

  
  


“Junior’s a… friend.” she doesn’t know what else to say. Talking about her tribe hurts to think about. She wants to hit her head, to die, to forget it all ever happened, to find a way to make it not her fault. "He's my roomate, actually. A bird roomate."

  
  


“Do you have any other Juniors?” a boy asks, ignoring the fact that she's about to run away. 

  
  


How are the kids so lighthearted, even as hell reigns free? Has the reality just not set in for them yet?

  
  


“No. He’s the only moon-mother.” she lies. But is it a lie? She knows there are other birds like him, of course. She'd asked dad for a picture book, as she wasn't allowed to go into the library. "The only one that I know of, at least."

  
  


("Ask your mother about it, Yue." dad said, when she talked to him about going into the library for the first time.

  
  


"Ask your father about it later, darling. I don't think he'll let you, though, as that isn't a place for little girls like you." 

  
  


She had wanted to throw a tantrum.

  
  


But then, she remembered.

  
  


"Dad, can I ask Tui about it?"

  
  


"Sure thing, kiddo." and, as she turned away and he realized he had just given her permission to pester a primal spirit about it, he yelled:

  
  
  


"WAIT NO DON'T DO THAT-" But Yue was four and had just discovered how to be selectively deaf.)

  
  
  


But that one moon-mother is gone. For good. It’s something that makes Yue happy and terrifies her all at the same time.

  
  


“Really?” he asks, before trying to get the barely-struggling bird out of the little girl's hands.

  
  


“No, Huan!” she says “It’s my turn with Junior!”

  
  


“It’s been your turn with Junior since this morning!” 

  
  


When it looks like Junior is about to get fought over, the bird, an oddly perceptive thing, who had been letting the girl hold him with only minor struggles, starts fighting. She realizes it isn't as unrestrained as he usually is with her when she does something stupid.

  
  


She realizes, though, even as she gives a forced laugh, that this time, he doesn’t bite.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


The next day rolls over, and Zuko, who had forced himself to sleep through the night, takes the day to help them bury the bodies.

  
  


To help them with the funeral rites.

  
  


He knows they don’t cremate their dead, even if that is, objectively speaking, the right thing. Not to him or anything, just in general. It’s for the best, not to taint the earth with the remains of anything like a human.

  
  


But he can’t say that, can he? This time, it isn’t due to a social expectation. He just… Can’t.

  
  


But he still mourns, when they bury the dead in shallow graves, dug in the moist earth, with hands that will have to dry tears for so much longer. For what he is mourning, he doesn't know.

  
  


Uncle says his prayers, too, in High fire nation, an old thing that isnt even used in the high ranks anymore. He mutters it low, and Zuko can’t berate him for being so open near the enemy anymore.

  
  


He misses being himself.

  
  


If - when - he dies again, will he be himself again? Will he be able to talk to Uncle? Will he be able to help? Will he be able to make someone proud?

  
  


Will Father finally see him as worthy of the throne? Of being home?

Will he be able to do something? To talk to those people, who are only pretending to be happy - there's no way anyone can be happy in a world like that, afterall.

  
  


Zuko misses being himself, without those instincts and that cold cold heart that seems dead to him.

  
  


He lets the world go away.

  
  


He's numb, now. He lets the kids hold him as they cry, and doesn't care much for what anyone says about that, either. 

  
  


Because there's nothing else he can do. He can't even object, anymore. Nothing that doesn't feel wrong, to him.

  
  


Eventually, he's let down, and eventually too, he comes back to his senses. To himself.

Not the person he's supposed to be. Never the person Zuko's supposed to be. But now, he has something, he feels a bit.

  
  


He wants to hunt.

  
  


It's the night, now, it's fully fallen and Zuko's body pumps with energy. He is hungry. He wants to hunt.

  
  


He wants prey. 

  
  


But he's so tired. He should just sleep, for a bit. Then, then he can hunt.

  
  


"Junior, are you hungry?" the girl from before asks, when he tries to shut his eyes and lifts his head instinctively.

He isn't, he wants to tell her. He should hunt for himself, not take those people's food, he knows. But she's offering it.

  
  


She's holding a piece of fish to his face. She must-

  
  


She must what?

  
  


All he knows of must is that he must eat.

  
  


And really, if he swallows a bit of her fingers, it isn't like he has teeth.

  
  


*"Mom-" and she stops, and drops her hand.

  
  


She's sad, now. And Zuko can't sleep with her like that, so he crawls onto her hand, and climbs up her arm awkwardly.

  
  


Before he can fully realize what he's doing, he's pecking her nose, gently, and grooming her hair.

Afterall, he's been there before.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


The next day, Yue wakes up with the sun. They’d set up a small camp, in the ruins of that place. 

She finds Iroh brewing a cup of tea for a crying boy, awake with the sun.

  
  


"The water flows, and adapts itself to its receptacle." he tells the child.

  
  


Iroh’s a wise man, with grief in his eyes and stress on his shoulders, weighed down by so much. Yue has learned to enjoy his company, his good days filled with proverbs and the horrible, hollow-eyed bad days. The ones where he, too, feels homesick.

  
  


Even Junior seems to realize the bad days. 

  
  


That day, it isn't quite a good one.

  
  


She is curious, though. And really, she doesn't have anyone to tell her if she can or cannot ask questions. She just knows that she no longer feels that cautious about him.

  
  


But what should she ask?

  
  


"Is today some kind of special day?" she mutters under her breath. No, that's a weird thing to ask.

  
  


"Are you okay?" is an invitation for a lie.

  
  


But then, she sees it. An approaching ship.

  
  


A grey husk of a ship, with industrial pipes and fumes and red flags all around. It is long, sleek, something modern, unlike the ones that came for her village. It’s… Luxurious, just not in the way she’d expected.

  
  


It didn’t even need the flags, to announce what it was

  
  


"Iroh!" she pokes his shoulder, as he heats up the water in a tiny fire, somehow still running from the night before. 

  
  


Upon looking where she points, his hands light up in flames, much to the surprise of the child, who hadn't noticed him firebending until that moment, and had just thought he had managed to light that fire by normal means.

  
  


Yue covers her mouth when he threatens to scream.

  
  


"You'll have to go." he says, quickly, as he gets up "Wake up the people, young Ling. I will distract them, and you'll lead them away. There’s no need to further endanger them. There is probably a village a bit off of here."

  
  


She knows he used to be a general, but the strict tone still surprises her. He’s bracing himself.

  
  


"Yes, Mushi." she tries to make the name sound natural, like it's going to change the fact that it's a lie. She’d like to think that she’s a decent liar. It comes off almost naturally.

  
  


She starts making noise, teapot and stone and her voice in union. It isn’t a nice thing to wake up to, but it isn’t time for nice things.

  
  


"EVERYONE, WAKE UP!" She yells "We have to go!"

  
  


"Uh?" 

  
  


"What the fuck?"

  
  


The people, camped on the drier area of the city, lift their heads from the piles of blankets and mud that were their improvised beds.

  
  


"We need to get out!" bang, bang "There's a fire nation ship heading this way!"

  
  


That wakes them up, alright. That wakes up even Junior, the increasingly lethargic moon-mother. She doesn’t pay attention to him, for the moment.

  
  


People get up, confused children and adults alike.

  
  


"Quick! Someone help Hao up!" A woman yells, and she remembers that he is the only one with a seriously injured leg.

  
  


The confusion is overtaken by the army of their muttering, their prayers amongst the anxious people. 

  
  


"Mrs. Ling, what's up?" asks Hao, waking up with the yell of his name.

  
  


"A fire nation ship's heading here." she has to be strict. She has to be a leader.

  
  


That doesn't come naturally to her, but it's a cloak she must adjust to her shoulders.

  
  


"Okay. Fine. Fine, everything's fucking fine." he's panicking now, as she helps him limp around. He leans heavily on her side, and she nearly tumbles down to the floor while holding him. 

“Slow down.” She orders, when he starts gasping and losing his footing. “We’ll fall down if you hurry too much.”   
  


  
  


“There’s a fuckin-” he stops. They don’t have any healers, and he’s clearly got something wrong inside, because his nose starts bleeding. “Fuck.”

  
  


They form a small crowd, as one catches up to the other.

  
  


"Why are they coming here?" asks someone.

  
  


"Why is Mushi staying?" a child mutters, tugging at Yue’s leg.

  
  


"He's going to distract them." she says, in a way that’s vague enough to be true, and doesn’t lie, doesn’t say he’ll come back.

  
  


"Where did I leave my coat?" asks a man, fidgeting with anxiety even as he hauls Hao’s other arm over his shoulder, groaning due to the pain of a poorly bandaged wrist.

  
  


She looks back, towards the sea.

  
  


"They're coming closer!" she hurries "Quick, there's no time to find other things! We’ll come back later and see if we can find anything, alright?"

  
  


They have to go.

  
  


Towards the rising sun, the group heads, puffs of smoke in the cold morning air that’s still uncomfortably hot for Yue (maybe because of the strain). Despite her discarded parka, the world out of the north is too hot.

  
  


She's going to miss Iroh. Another person she didn’t truly get to know.

  
  
  


-

  
  


The ship approaches. The clouds seem to drift along with it.

  
  


Uncle brews his tea, with calm, methodical movements. It mustn’t be very good, he isn’t drinking it.

  
  


Well, there are no real good tea blends, he argues, as Uncle stretches his fingers back and steels his face.

  
  


The ship approaches.

  
  


Zuko feels lethargic and numb. Whatever fish he ate yesterday isn't going to keep him running for very long.

  
  


But it's alright.

  
  


Maybe this will be the last time.

  
  


The ship approaches.

  
  


At least it isn't Zhao’s. That doesn’t reassure him for long, because it isn’t something he can predict.

  
  


The ship docks, a bit further from the area. A ramp is lowered, and the curtains are drawn.

  
  


The face that steps out is so, so very familiar to him.

  
  


The heart-shaped features. The little bit of baby fat she can't hide, despite her attempts to seem older, with the subtle, perfectly symmetrical makeup.

  
  


The eyes, cold and calm. They used to be bright, warmed by a certain type of mischief that often brought him to the infirmary.

  
  


His sister is there.

  
  


His sister. The girl that looked so much like him, as children, that people thought they were twins. The little girl that loved showing off her perfect bending and that liked teasing him about his “crush” on her friend. The girl that slowly drifted away, mischief turning into true malice.

  
  


Azula.

  
  


He fears and misses her all the same.

  
  


He wants to cry, but can’t, so he just gets up and puffs up his feathers. She doesn’t even spare him a glance.

  
  


Uncle seems calm, collected. Perfectly fine.

  
  


She makes her way down the plank slowly, flanked by two of the masked guards.

  
  


Do they realize how much they look like corpses? Do they realize the way they tremble, ever-slightly? Most important of all, does she realize?

  
  


"Greetings, Uncle." her voice breaks whatever illusion that she might be older than fourteen. She sounds like a kid, despite her best efforts to seem cold and allusive.

  
  


Maybe that isn't how most people hear her. But she's his sister, he's been holding her for longer than she can remember. To him, she's barely more than a hatchling.

  
  


Can she fly, already? Why is father letting her leave the nest?

  
  


"Hello, Princess Azula." he sounds casual. Resigned, maybe, despite his simple smile. "What has brought you to this land?”

  
  


"I came here for my brother, General Iroh." she smirks. Her teeth are perfectly white and straight. She no longer has that gap in the front ones that she did when he last saw her. “Where is he?”

  
  


"I fear Prince Zuko has died during the invasion." There's just enough grief in his voice, to seem like a slip-up. Zuko knows it isn't. He doesn’t know how much of his grief is genuine - there’s no way he truly liked Zuko all that much, after all - but it hurts him all the same.

  
  


Yes, he has. He has, indeed. But he's here, Zuko wants to say. He wants to fly and preen Azula and untie her hair from the bind she never outright said was uncomfortable, but never really denied either, even when they were kids.

  
  


"That is a shame." but it doesn't sound like it. She doesn't seem to care. "But the fire lord said he'd wished for the two of you to go back back home, Uncle. You are needed, especially now that Father and I will grieve for the heir to the throne."

  
  


Had… Had he been wanted back? He wants to step forward, find a way to tell her that’s him, that’s Zuko, but he can hardly move, he isn’t even able to be noticed.

  
  


"Please, Uncle." he knows all her pleas are forced. Something is wrong. "Don't you want to attend your nephew's funeral?"

  
  


"He has already been buried at sea, Princess Azula." Uncle flinches, at the mention of Zuko. At the same time that he wants to step forward and let Azula know he is there, he wants to comfort Uncle.

  
  


Because Uncle still thinks he's dead. Because Uncle’s still grieving for him (probably out of obligation, really, says his mental image of his sister)

  
  


"If you do not wish to come on your own, old fool... Oh well. Let's get this over with quickly."

  
  


And, before he can even grasp at what is happening, his sister's hands light up and crackle with lightning.

  
  


He doesn't have time to think about how he never saw anything like that before.

  
  


Because it’s being thrown - commanded? Bent? Sent?- towards Uncle.

  
  


And Zuko? Zuko isn't about to test if the phoenix’s blessing runs in their family.

  
  


With one last bout of swiftness, he jumps. It's almost like taking flight. It feels right, to open his wings like that.

  
  


So natural. It's what he's supposed to be, it's what he's supposed to do, to fall, struck down by that man-made thunder.

  
  


Everything hurts, and it all buzzes and he can't hear straight and he can barely see anything and it hurts so much-

  
  


But he isn't gone yet.

  
  


And Azula is readying herself in that posture again and she's saying something but he can't hear what- while Uncle stands there for a second. Is he in shock? Zuko can't ask, everything's contracting and shrinking and growing and-

  
  


Uncle- He's readying himself.

  
  


And, as she shoots again and as he tries to scream no no no, Uncle Iroh does a weird movement that sounds funny on his head, and he can't see straight but Azula screams-

  
  


Did he hit Azula? No, that can't be it. He... Did something with the lighting, and he heard someone who isn't Uncle fall to the water-

  
  


And before he realizes, he’s being picked up and-

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pwease cwomwent,,, * gets shot to death in an alleyway because i said that to a robber *
> 
> fun fact i have to google proverbs.
> 
> and thank you for all the comments until now! they brighten up my little days and i profoundly thank you for them!


	4. I'm a saint (sticky paint)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs for this one: Yue's bad vibes, the aftermath of an electrocution, nudity even if glossed over (because SHHH logic, this dude is, SPOILERS, literally combusting every two weeks)
> 
> here we go,,,, both our babies have a long way to go, and i am catapulting them towards a world where they become slightly better
> 
> also poor iroh, every teen in his life just fucking dies jhfdhjdfhjdhdfhjfsdhsd king

  
Zuko comes to.

  
It all hurts so much.

  
It hurts and tingles like he hasn't moved in years and he can't feel his wings-

  
And he hears someone screaming.

  
"ZUKO?!" Uncle Iroh shouts, and he can finally open his eyes.

  
They're in a patch of dry grass. The sun is burning hot on his retinas, from his spot watching them from the horizon, rising higher in his interest.

  
He tries to scream. He can't really do anything but scream. But his voice doesn't come out right.

  
Not like it has for the past two weeks.

  
And then, he realizes, his sight is normal. His mouth feels narrow, and he can taste his own bile.

  
And soon, he sees, Uncle is putting off a small fire.

  
A small fire around where he had been. Like an explosion. A sudden burst of flame.

  
He...

  
He died again, but he can't quite remember _how_ anymore.

  
And then Uncle kneels next to him, and picks his head up, onto his lap.

  
It hurts, but he can't scream at him to stop, even when his scalp hurts, and he didn't even remember what hurting there felt like-

  
"What happened, Zuko?" he realizes his hair is down from the ironically named phoenix plume, from the way Uncle is brushing it back.

  
"I-" a groan, the words come out wrong and warbled and slow- "I died, didn't I?"

  
"You were... You were still here, all this time." and something warm falls onto his face. A tear.

  
"I was." he tries to smile, but the corners of his mouth hurt from the movement.

  
He is glad for, what he presumes, is the return of his human form, no matter how _wrong_ it feels. However, he is quite far from glad for the pain. 

  
"Where... Where's the others?" he remembers now. Denizens of that wrecked place.

  
No response. But Zuko knows what he’s looking for, deep in him, second nature by now.

  
"Where is my prey, Uncle?" he shouldn't have said that, Uncle seems confused now, the soothing motions stop.

  
"Your... Prey? Forgive me, I hadn't seen you hunt these past few days."

  
"No, old man... The ava- avatar." he bites his tongue, and he feels rude. He has been awake and himself (is he really himself?) for less than what... Three minutes? And he's already being a fucking idiot, because that's what he is.

  
"Do you remember the siege?"

  
He does. He remembers finding out how he can't die. He remembers the screaming. He remembers the cold.

  
He remembers the-

  
The _ocean_.

  
And he jumps up, headbutting Uncle's beard-bristled chin, before laying down again, panting heavily as if he'd just trained all day long.

  
"We have to stop him!" he tries to yell, but he can't say the words loud enough right right now. Even as he says it, it rings in his ears.

  
His thoughts are spinning in circles, and he's back on the dirt again, staring at the daringly blue sky.

  
Blue like the stupid, stupid ocean. He hates it, he hates it so much, is he on his right mind to be that _angry_ - _furious-desperate-_

  
"First, Prince Zuko, you need to explain yourself and _rest_." Uncle sounds serious, now. "You aren't in your right mind at the moment. You have just been struck by Azula’s lightning, and we are lucky she didn’t see your… transformation, before we ran off.”

  
"I know that, Uncle. And I'm fine!" but he doesn't try to get back up. Because it hurts, and he can barely feel his body at the moment.

  
Uncle looms over him and gives him The Look.

  
"A man without rest is like a ship without fuel." he says "I don't have any tea leaves on me right now, due to our uncomfortable circumstances."

  
"Wait." he stops for a second "Where are the other people? Where's Yue? Where are my _clothes_?"

  
"Oh. That's a problem, actually."

  
Isn't it _great_? Because of _course_ he had to wake up on a field that's on _fire_ , and of course he had to just have died, and of fucking _course_ it had to go like that, didn't it?!

  
"I do have some pieces of my cloak. We'll get you new clothes at the next village."

  
A part of him wants to die again.

  
"That isn't the priority right now, though." he says, because it isn't. "The avatar is still going on his rampage, Uncle."

  
"And you have just died. We will wait until you are rested to catch up with the rest of the village." Uncle says, and then gives him a lighthearted smile. “Plus, can’t avatar hunt without pants on, can you?”

  
"We can't afford to wait!" he tries to sit up, and this time, by sheer will, he does it. His head spins, and his vision goes black and fuzzy.

  
Uncle places his hands on Zuko's shoulders.

  
"May I remind you you have just died?" his face - dirty, dry and weathered - is streaked with half-dried tears. "We will manage to catch up with them later. Now, you will rest."

  
The idea is tempting, actually. To just... Bathe in the sun, for a while.

  
Now that he thinks about baths, he's feeling incredibly dirty. Managing, with a certain amount of difficulty, he raises a hand to his hair - it's cascading down his shoulders, and he doesn't have time to think about how ridiculous it must look out of the phoenix plume.

  
It feels unhealthy. Unkempt, dripping with grease, knotted like nobody had touched it in weeks. It was true, if he thought about it.

  
Mom used to be proud of his hair, when he was a kid. Since she said it was pretty, so did he. 

  
Of course, pretty, but never as pretty as Azula's. She'd always seemed immaculate, even when they were children. Like a china doll, a living portrait. 

  
But all pieces of art had to have imperfections, he’d thought back then. No way she was the exception. It had always seemed like a lie, something to console himself, until his banishment. Up to the point where he didn’t see her every day, he’d never managed to fully understand that she was just a _kid_.

"Are you sure we'll catch up to them?" 

  
"If you can catch up with the avatar when he's on a bison, then you can catch up with a group of normal people when they're on foot."

  
"We had the Wani, back then." and he flinches, remembering the corpses.

  
How many of them had he known, behind the bone-white masks?

  
He wants to puke, now. That's a bad idea, so he swallows down the bile. Yes, he doesn't have much to lose. But losing it would mean worrying Uncle.

  
"Are you hungry?" he asks, getting up and draping the red cloak over his shoulders, with an unnecessary gentleness.

  
It's hot, but he welcomes it nonetheless. He doesn't feel strong enough to shrug it off. Sitting up already hurts his back.

  
"Not really." he admits. He doesn't feel hungry all that much, even though he feels weak. But it's alright, then, because if he isn't hungry then they don't need much more food.

  
"I'm getting you something to eat, nephew." 

  
"You don't need to. I'm not hungry, I'll be _fine_."

  
"We just talked about that. You're not dying again."

  
"It doesn't matter if I do, Uncle! I'm a phoenix! I shouldn't-"

  
"I am not losing another son. Any flame can be extinguished, if not cared for carefully." and Zuko ponders, for a second (or at least he thinks it's a second), but when he next realizes, Uncle is gone.

  
He's alone.

  
He realizes he both misses and dreads the silence, the lack of any presence but his.

  
He tries to meditate, a thing he hadn't done since he realized his inner fire was gone. But, when he reaches out to the paths of chi on his body, they lead nowhere.

  
It feels like a dead fire, but somehow, there's still wood left to burn, even if that makes no sense.

  
Is that wrongness, that senselessness, what Uncle had meant?

-

  
A man whose name she doesn't remember leads the way through the thick, dry grass.

  
The middle of the morning approaches, and Yue is quickly growing very tired, on the borders of an incoming collapse.

  
Hao's weight nearly makes her tumble down, every couple of minutes.

  
"Is Mr. Mushi going to be alright?" asks the little girl from earlier, who has been walking silently with them for a long while, occasionally tugging at her to ask about something futile, stupid.

  
Her voice grates on Yue's irritated ears, but, despite gritting her teeth, she forces a smile.

  
"Sure thing, kiddo." says Hao, before she can respond in a fake-sweet voice. "I bet he's taught those bad guys a big, big lesson."

  
"He was nice."

  
"He set his hands on _fire_ , that's what he did!" a small, boyish voice quips. Another child. Why are they so small, Yue deliriously thinks. "He's an _ashmaker_!"

  
"No, that can't be it!" the little girl shoves him, gently. "He's nice, and you're a _liar_!"

  
"No I'm not! I saw it! He was brewing tea and saw the ship and he-"

  
Oh. _Oh_ , thinks Yue. Her brain is short circuiting, but she’s been here before.

  
“Hey.” she says, gently, and lays her hand on the boy’s shoulder, gently, softly. No suspicious grip to be found. “You shouldn’t go around and lie about other people. Do you imagine how it would feel if somebody did that with you?”

  
"Did what with him?” asks a woman, who had been in front of them but clearly listened in on the boy’s yelling.

  
"Mr. Mushi is an ashmaker, mom!” he says, hopping in his anxiety “I saw him! He stayed there to wait for the fire nation ship!

  
They aren't a crowd, but their anxiety is palpable, as they gather around the boy, who is screaming out the ugly truth she won’t admit to.

Yue has a decision to make.

  
She knows why Iroh stayed behind, afterall.

  
But should she step on his grave like that? Should she?

  
He was a brave man. But he wouldn’t have wanted that, she thinks. Because she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t want that disrespect upon _her_ name.

  
However, above all else, her duty right now is to survive. She will try, but she won’t persist.

  
“Please, young man.” she says, in her best serious voice, trying and failing not to let a single tremble in. “You do not know what you are talking about!”

  
“You were there!” he says, pointing a finger at her “You saw him too!”

  
And now, they’re all looking at her, and she doesn’t think. Because there’s anger in their eyes, and Yue isn’t strong enough to take them.

  
She will do what it takes to survive.

  
“I saw him, but you don’t-” she stutters on purpose, and lets crocodile-fox tears come to her eyes. She is a hypocrite, she realizes.

  
She should abhor, she should find herself _abominable_ , for doing what she is doing now. She knows it is wrong. She knows it, but there isn’t anything in her head telling her not to do it.

  
She sobs.

  
“He told me not to tell anyone, so we could flee together-” it slips awkwardly from her tongue, and she doesn’t regret it, despite the disgust deep within her. "He- He had the only raft and-"

  
“Hey, kid.” Hao nudges her, and smiles. She’s still supporting him, but she shrinks into his side, puts on the face of the child she never truly got to be. “He isn’t going to get you here.”

  
He really isn’t. There’s a _reason_ he stayed behind, she argues.

  
She’s going to miss him nonetheless, despite the console of his reunion with that lost child of his.

-

The sun on Zuko's face makes him want to sleep.

  
But no, he _can't_. He is human again, now. He has no excuse to do that.

  
He was blessed by Agni himself, and he must act like it. He straightens his back - his limbs still tingle and he feels like the electricity is still in him.

  
He feels like there are ants crawling all over his skin.

  
He feels impatient, too impatient. He wants Uncle to be back. He won't ever say that out loud, but he wants wisdom.

  
He wants _advice_.

  
Anything that can help him understand his unwilling shift back-and-forth, the unkind sway of his broken body, the persistent ache everywhere, the way his head spins and spins and _spins_.

  
He isn't a person who can die.

  
Is he going to outlive _everyone_? Is he going to outlive all those people, the servants and the noblemen alike? 

  
The answer is obvious, and Zuko despises it.

  
Is he going to abandon being human at all? Is he going to keep aging, shifting back-and-forth endlessly?

  
When he finds his way to Father, will he be glad? Will he see Zuko, and understand? Will he let him go home?

  
Should he _try_ to survive? Or could he try to find a way to make his demise permanent?

  
Is his firebending coming back?

  
Is that just another way the spirits have found to laugh at him, to forsake him, in the end?

  
"Zuko, are you okay?" Uncle asks him, and he opens his eyes.

  
The world is blinding. 

  
There are so many things he wants to ask.

  
How many of them can Uncle, the patient old general, the wise, spiritual man, answer?

  
He opens his mouth, but can't ask it. Can't materialize it into the world. Because those who say what they want hear what they don't, and he is condemned.

  
His demise should be inevitable. He shouldn't get to live forever.

  
"I don't need food, Uncle."

  
"You do. You are still a growing boy, my nephew." he is handed a ripe, red fruit. It seems to pulsate in his hand, like a heart.

  
It looks appetizing. The mouth that doesn't feel quite his salivates.

  
He wants it. But he doesn't need it.

  
His suffering shall be his teacher. Let the longing happen.

  
"No."

  
"Don't be stubborn."

  
"You need it more than I do."

  
"Then we will share." Uncle gives in.

  
He doesn't want to fight anymore. He is so tired, and it looks so ripe in his hand, despite not being all that large.

  
They split it, with a knife Uncle carries around. It has a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, but he doesn't really care.

  
If he wants to catch up to the rest of the people - to Yue and Hao and whatever the others were named - he needs to eat.

  
Yet, despite the knowledge, and despite how much he wants it, how good it is, his stomach fills up fast, from the days he'd spent starving.

  
He looks up to the sky. The sun is rising higher by the minute, but the day doesn't feel hot enough.

  
The world feels cold to him, now.

  
He wants to question.

  
Zuko knows that the phoenix’s blessing is seen as only a myth, out of the particularly spiritual circles that believe in it. But Uncle Iroh is a spiritual person, he argues. Surely, he must have _something_ in store.

  
"Uncle." they're sitting beside each other now. He has finished what he could of the fruit, and oxidation has already started setting in on the remaining quarter, on the brief minutes of silence.

  
"Uh?" he looks up, now. His hands are filthy, but so are Zuko's.

  
"Can I die? Permanently, I mean."

  
Uncle must know. That’s his hope, and he must hold it tight.

  
"Well, not truly, you see. But your ability to live can be hindered, if you do not properly care for yourself." he says. "From what I am aware, your body cannot regenerate limbs or organs, if they are not linked to your death, or if you can survive without them for any period of time.”

"Why not someone else?" he wonders. "I'm _weak_. The blessing should've gone to someone else."

  
"The strength of a man lies not in his hands but in his mind, Prince Zuko." Uncle taps his own forehead.

  
"But I need to be strong in more than mind to regain my honor." he growls.

  
“If you want to be strong, you have to do more than work for it. You have to care for yourself, and for other people too.”

  
“Then that’s what I’ll do.” he says, with renewed resolve. “I will stop the avatar, before he reaches the fire nation.”

  
“I’ll help you.” Uncle says, and smiles. “But first, rest.”

  
He won’t object, this time. 

  
And, when he lays down, he has the humorous-treacherous urge to tell Agni to do horrible things to himself.

-

  
The regret takes its time settling in.

  
She shouldn’t _regret_ it. She should be proud, because now they listen to her. They believe her.

  
But a persistent, stupid part of her feels bad about it. She shouldn’t, though. Because really, what was her hopeful belief that perhaps Iroh had come to survive but the most outrageously _idiotic_ thing she’d ever imagined?

  
So she walks. 

  
A part of her wants to question. She wants answers, but what for?

  
So she listens. She listens to every brief word traded, and hopes for her answers.

  
“Mom, when are we stopping?” the little boy from earlier asks his mom “I’m hungry!”

  
“Don’t worry, sweetie, we’ll make a lunch break soon. I’ll ask the others about it.”

  
But she doesn’t. They are all grieving, there, and the silence persists with their procession.

  
“Hey, Mrs. Ling!” the girl tugs at her leg, still accompanying them. “Aren’t you tired?”

  
_(“Don’t you wanna go insane sometimes?” Sokka had asked her, once, as they met at the bridge. “Like. Wouldn’t it be nice? Aren’t you_ tired _?”)_

  
“No, sweetie. Don’t worry about it.” she lies like she'd lied back then. Her legs ache, she is covered in grime and sweat, she wants to take a bathroom break. To make it a shorter tale, she is. She is so, so very tired.

  
“Well, lass, I sure am!” says Hao, nudging her gently “Come on, we’ve come pretty far, we can stop here.”

  
“We should see with Heng about it, though.” the other, older man says. He was so silent, Yue forgot he was there. 

  
“He doesn’t need absolute authority over whether or not we stop.” she says. “We should vote.”

"No need to." says the man.

  
Hao then takes a deep breath and hollers out:

  
“EVERYBODY, COME HERE, WE’RE TAKING A FUCKING BREAK NOW!”

  
Someone opposes. An older woman.

  
“We're getting to the next village before sundown!” she says, holding a young child. "Or we would be, were it not for you little-"

  
“And we won’t be able to if Hao collapses and can’t hop around anymore.” she states, matter-of-factly “If you want to keep going, go. No need to wait for the rest of us”

  
It’s the fair thing to say, to those people who are a village but not a tribe. 

  
But fair doesn’t always mean acceptable, to these infuriating people.

  
“Listen here, young lady-” she says, her face red. “I won’t let one person hinder us all!”

  
“I’m not talking about everyone, ma’am.” she sighs “Please, just- Just go on. We need to rest, but it’s fine if you don’t want to.” it wouldn't be fine, on anywhere but that weird place and that weird time they're at.

  
“I will not.”

  
“Then just DON’T, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” Yue screams, and covers her mouth “Oh, sorry, I’m sorry just-”

  
Oh, great, what will they think now? Everyone's looking at her.

  
Hao sits down on a stray boulder, dragging her with him.

  
That serves for tension, she realizes. Because she just snapped, didn't she? 

  
Yue used to be so much more patient. Quiet. Gentle. 

  
But she's so tired, now. She's tired, and she misses her family, and she misses Sokka, and she misses having actual meals, and she misses the cold, and she misses being able to not feel horrible by whining and complaining.

  
Everything is too quiet and too loud and too _hot_ -

  
And she's too tired for this.

  
She lays down on the dry, dirty grass. Breathes in, breathes out, like Iroh taught her after she started having nightmares.

  
Yue's going to miss him.

  
"Hey, are you alright?" asks Hao. "You look like shit, kiddo."

  
"Not a kiddo." she grumbles "I'm asleep."

  
"Hi asleep, I'm Aiguo" says the old man from before, the one who had been helping her carry Hao around.

  
She isn't an angry person, by nature. She's just so tui-damn stressed right now. However, she does not have the energy to shove a foot up that idiot's mouth and down his idiotic idiot throat.

  
But she's not even hungry anymore, she's just really, really tired. And the sun is nice on her face, and the idle chitchat of the resting people lulls her in a way that is all too familiar, all too comfortable now, even as they comment at the leaving woman.

-

  
Zuko isn't energetic enough to feel bored, right now.

But he realizes, as the sun takes his place at the center of the sky, that he is ready. He cannot be anything but. 

  
His body has two different inputs, at the same time. A part of him is feral, stupid, and it wants to sleep. The other - the human part of him, he can clearly distinguish - wants to go. It _has_ to go.

  
"Uncle, we can go now." he says, sitting up. His head spins, and his vision goes blurry for a moment. "I'm better."

  
"Are you sure?" he asks. There is concern in his eyes. No, _pity_.

  
"You don't need to pity me. I'm fine, and I'm ready." he says, getting up and wrapping the cloak around his waist. "Are you, though?"

  
"Don't worry about me." Uncle smiles.

  
Zuko's body is different, now. He gets whiplash, at suddenly being taller than Uncle again. It's so weird.

  
His legs are long, and they fold weirdly now. It's all _wrong_.

  
"Do you want any help?" Uncle asks him.

  
"I'm fine!" he says, exasperated. He doesn't have a fitting.. anything, for the situation.

  
He will be fine, though.

  
The soil feels good, under his feet. He supposes his clothes were burned when he'd first combusted, in the north. Please remember to mention this beforehand.

  
It's a bit too hot, but the warmth is welcome. It isn't like it's going to kill him, afterall.

  
"Where do we go now?" Uncle asks him. Like he can provide directions.

  
"Well, we have to fetch Yue, don't we?" he asks "She has _something_ to do with La's state right now. And now, I can make her tell us how to stop my pr- The avatar."

  
"Oh, I suppose we do." Uncle scratches his beard. "How are we going to explain to her your... blessing?"

  
Zuko stops, and rubs at the bridge of his nose. A part of him, funny enough, just wants to invent a new identity for a couple of days. He's too exhausted to explain the fact that he is now the Magical Birdy Bird Boy.

  
"Just. Don't? Maybe we can convince her I was never a bird?" he suggests. "No. She wouldn't believe that, would she? She has a _brain_. Forget that, we'll just tell her the truth."

  
"A reasonable path to take, Prince Zuko." Uncle approves, therefore, there's no way this will go wrong.

  
They go walking. The disaster of the shoreline is behind them, now. But they have a goal, a path to take, before they can go back, before they can stop the avatar.

  
A part of him, that thing with only a single track to tread on his mind, wants to leave Yue behind. But Uncle is right, they do need her. 

  
She isn't a bad person. But he knows the implications, he knows it, deep down.

  
A part of him knows she's going to have to go.

  
And his throat locks up with that simple, dishonorable thought.

  
-

  
According to Aiguo, they're nearly there. They're nearly at the town.

  
Yue isn't carrying Hao anymore, but they still leave her behind. Everything aches so badly, and she is so thirsty, she didn't even know people could want water that much. Her back hurts, and her legs are cramped down to every single inch, and she just... She just wants to _sleep_.

  
She wonders, briefly, what Junior is up to. Maybe they'd spared the bird. Maybe he'd gone unnoticed.

  
But he was a brave animal. Every good spirit had an animal guide, they'd used to say. Maybe Junior was Iroh's, even if only for that brief period of time.

  
But then, when she looks back, in a burst of curiosity, she sees someone.

  
No, a pair of someones. It isn't her vision, making everyone blurry and doubled, this time. Because one of the figures is tall, starved-skinny, looming behind the short, rounded figure she recognizes from afar.

  
Despite all the stress-weight he'd lost, he still smiles.

  
She wants to tell the group to stop, wait up for them. But she remembers her lie.

  
And the guilt hits her so hard she wants to cry. She wants to actually cry, isn't that _stupid_? She's just a little dumb girl, she really doesn't have a reason to.

  
She should leave them behind. She's disgraced Iroh enough.

  
But curiosity is the strongest thing of all. It is stronger than fear, even, and really, there's no need to say that it is stronger than guilt.

  
But... What if Iroh isn't _good_? What if that figure, cloaked in what remains of the old man's cloak, is another soldier? What if she was right all along?

  
What if they're there to finish them off? a part of her asks.

  
But why would they? The group she's with is small, far too small. Unless...

  
Unless Iroh knows she has something to do with the spirits. She is fond of the man, but she doesn't know if that fondness is onesided.

  
Maybe it is. It _must_ be, right?

  
Because a part of Yue forgot what he was. Fire Nation. An _ashmaker_. Someone who is old enough to let go of regret.

  
She gives up lagging behind. With renewed energy, she heads to the front.

  
They are a small crowd. She doesn't know them enough to make them not worth throwing aside, when faced with peril.

  
"He's here." she whispers, in Aiguo's ear. She lets terror into her voice, just enough for her to not know if it is real or fake.

  
"Who?" he asks, stupid and out loud.

  
"Mushi." his fake name, her fake tale. Maybe he's justified, to kill her.

  
She regrets that, but she shouldn't. It's her survival on the line, and it isn't like she knew him well enough to know if he deserved it.

  
"Okay. You, just run. We'll deal with them." the man says, and gives her a smile. "Northwest from here, through the woods, is a path to my cousin's house. She's a recluse, but she's a nice lady. You'll be fine with her."

  
Does Yue have a reason to refuse? She said she'd miss Iroh, after all.

  
"No." says the woman from before "We're not just... Confronting him! Who knows what he's after?!"

"He'll leave you alone." Yue says "It isn't like you're important, or anything. To him, I mean. No offense." she lifts up her hands, gives the group a brief glance.

  
She's happy, to be able to leave behind people she won't miss.

-

  
Yue doesn't get very far. It isn't surprising, though, is it?

  
The younger man finds her first.

  
He is panting heavily - she'd heard fire benders had stellar breath control, maybe he isn't one? - by the time he corners her.

  
She shrinks in, knowing of the worst.

  
But then....

  
"Zuko!" it's Iroh. She knows that name from somewhere, she realizes, but can't quite place it at the moment. "Let her explain!"

  
"Hello, Young Yue." he smiles, entering the small are she's been cornered against, the boulder and the tiny tree. She took the wrong path, she realizes.

  
She should've known better. She should've managed to get somewhere where she could shield herself. Somewhere with someone to distract them.

  
"I'm not certain why you are running. Sit down beside us, won't you?" he asks, and simply... Sits down, on the forest dirt.

  
She is confounded, but she shouldn't be. She knows the man, he is quite the patient kind.

  
The persistent kind. Like a pursuit predator.

  
And what option does she have, but to keep playing that game?

  
"Zuko, my nephew, sit down, won't you?" the man asks, to the panting boy.

  
"Wait, nephew?" she blots out "Like, _that_ nephew?"

  
"Yes, you little-" he growls.

  
"Please. We owe you an explanation." Iroh admits, and rubs at the back of his head. "There is no tea for us to enjoy through this conversation, and that is quite unfortunate."

  
"Explain yourself." she says "Why did you stay behind?"

  
"Oh, well. A man has his reasons. It as, to put it simply, a stalling attempt. I knew they were there for me, and accompanying the other survivors would only place them in further danger. I suppose that is also the reason you split up from your group, correct?"

  
She doesn't answer. She doesn't know how much time she has, and if she gives them everything she knows, they will only dispose of her quicker.

  
"And what is up with your nephew over there?" she asks. She doesn't know how to be courteous, when asking him if he'd faked his death. She should probably be more formal, shouldn't she? "Sir."

  
"I fear you may know him as Junior." he says, simply, and, when her mouth opens in a confused shock, ready to question what stupid game that is "He is a phoenix, and that has been revealed under rather... Unfortunate circumstances."

  
"Wait." she stops. "A... _Phoenix_? That moon-mother was a phoenix all along? That was Junior?"

  
"Are you stupid?" Junior quips. She wants to tell the previously named little man birdolino to go screw himself.

  
"Not enough." she says, and then, jokingly. "Ignorance is a bliss, and its absence only leaves confusion."

  
Iroh laughs as she smiles.

  
"But knowledge is enlightenment, when we are talking in more serious terms."

  
"Oh, great." Junior whispers to himself "We've got two of them now."

  
"Either way." Iroh smiles "Are you coming with us?"

"Where?" she questions. "If knowledge is enlightenment, then I deserve to know where you're taking me."

  
"We're stopping the Avatar." Junior says. "And you have something to do with what provoked him and the ocean."

  
"But-" she tries to interrupt.

  
"Of course, it is your choice." Iroh says, gently "You are the one who knows what happened to the moon, and you could be the key to restoring balance."

  
He says it like there's a choice to be made. And Yue wants to laugh, because he isn't really all that subtle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear to god im not meant to take this this seriously jjfdgh
> 
> someday i will redo a version of this frankly pretty damn good plot without the owo cringy elements of the whole phoenix thing, because this is totally not just a poorly disguised vent fic ahaha
> 
> its just, i took a @muffinlance prompt and dragged it through the mud, threw it in my backyard, planted a pineaple on it and then slathered it with sugar and mayo before forcing my neighbors to eat it


	5. INTERLUDE - The living oak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> La rages on. Life continues, for those unfortunate enough to deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWS for fantasy racism!
> 
> azula is a lil bitch, for now :^)

  
He is _furious_.

  
His fury is felt all throughout Aang's body.

  
He wasn't meant to hold that much.

  
He wasn't meant to be in there, dark and alone and cold, sleeping and drowning at the same time, for so long.

  
He cannot object, though. 

  
Do you even want to?, something deep in him asks. Something that isn't him, something horrible, stark-white and blinding. Something he can't fight against, not anymore.

  
Because really, is he even there? He can't move, he can't go against the wicked pushing of the furious ocean. He can't go against it, the undying will of who he once was.

  
The others. They revel, inside Aang, and inside the ocean too.

  
For they are the balance.

-

Katara misses her friend.

  
They all do, even Momo and Appa.

  
Some days, when they camp out in the woods, she wakes up and can almost hear the wind say her name. She gets up, and a part of her always hopes he'll have come back. But it's inevitable, the way the tears always come to her eyes. 

  
But life goes on, even if she feels like she can't move. Even if she knows it's her fault, that she didn't really try to stop him. Not enough for it to make a difference.

  
For she and Sokka, life became searching. They're in an ever-lasting, never-ending search for something that can break up whatever bond formed between Aang and the murderous, corrupted ocean.

  
She feels guilty, even if it's all she can do. She feels guilty because she couldn't prevent it, and because she can't deal with the fallout. She has to search.

  
She has to contain the damage. She knows a couple of the survivors are going along the shorelines. A couple of healers and girls of the north, people that were somehow judged worthy enough to survive.

  
Their own little group ( _Team Avatar_ , they'd called it back when Aang was still there and smiling like the sun) was meant to end the war. That was something man-made. Something unfair and clear-cut.

  
Hard, but it was possible.

  
But this, it's meddling with the spirits. It's messing with things beyond their comprehension.

  
It's things they can't plan against.

  
Katara wishes she were like Sokka, skeptical enough to think that saving Aang isn't out of reach.

  
So she sits up, and brushes back her tears, watching the sun rise. Her brother stirs up, slowly. That is uncharacteristic of him. Things shouldn't be like that.

  
"Hey, what are you doing?" he pats her shoulder, as she stares off into the horizon. She leans into the touch, and refuses to cry.

  
"Just thinking."

  
"He'll be fine." she wants it to be true. She's never wanted anything that bad. "We'll figure something out."

  
"What do you want for breakfast?" she blinks back the tears and gets up.

  
"We have leftover carrots, right?" he asks. "Like, the ones you were pickling?"

  
Aang used to hate pickled vegetables, despite that being one of the easiest ways to make them last longer. He'd said it was "the utmost insane thing to do, who doesn't eat their veggies fresh?"

  
Sokka likes them, though. She wonders if they taste like ash in his mouth, too.

  
Katara shouldn't miss her friend that much. They hadn't known each other for that long.

  
But you'd promised to him, you'd swore to be family, a part of her argues.

  
"We've got a hint, though. There's that letter, from General Fong. He thinks some tomes in his library will help."

  
"Then we're going there. Pack up." they don't have time. Not anymore.

  
Katara hates feeling numb, like that. She can't even muster the willpower to feel overwhelmed, anymore.

  
But it's better, she reasons. Better than that, than the need to cry on and on all through the day.

  
"Hell yeah!" Sokka fake-cheers. "Come on, we'll do great!"

  
"Do you even want breakfast?" she tries to slip into it. Into being herself.

  
"We can have brunch later, I still have some cured egg yolks and stuff. Really fancy." she knows he's going to feel hungry in thirty minutes, tops. But oh well, she thinks.

  
And they talk onward. 

  
Katara feels like a coward.

-

Princess Azula is furious.

  
They were sent there to search for her uncle, that traitorous, fat, weak old man.

  
And now, he's run away. And now, they have to go back. It's the Fire Lord's orders.

  
Father's orders. 

  
He says a storm is coming. He says they need to go back home before it fully hits them, strands them in there. A spirit is causing it, he says.

  
She wants to scream, go into a rage for her failure. Because the dragon of the west is on the run. She was ordered to bring him back, dead or alive. And she failed.

  
But she must obey her father. He himself sent them the messenger hawk. He sent it through his favorite scribe.

  
Now, she would like to pretend, even if only to herself, that Uncle Fatso wasn't a player.

  
But he is a manipulative man, one born and raised in the court.

  
One that succeeded there.

  
And she doesn't have enough information on the situation, not right now. All Azula has is her failure and her orders.

  
She is scared.

  
The orders were to bring Zuzu, though. Uncle was only a bonus, Father thought (and was right, of course) that he wouldn't be a problem. That he would get himself killed in some way or another.

  
She obeys Father, and she pities Zuzu. He probably sacrificed himself to get that stupid old man there. He was raised into the role, after all, ever since his banishment.

  
She almost misses him, in actuality.

  
But really, it is for the better, for her to not do weak things such as grieving.

  
Because really, Zuko was always too foolish for the place he was born in. Its good, that he's gone.

  
With the confirmation that he's gone, she will take her rightful place as the Crown Princess of the Fire Nation. And, despite her anger at not being able to end Uncle Fatso before he fled, she gets to feel a bit of happiness.

  
Because she has good news for Father.

  
The winds are blowing, but her ship is strong. The very best someone who is, functionally speaking, the heir to the throne, can get.

  
The waves are lapping. 

  
Azula tells the engineer to shut up, albeit politely and patiently enough for even a mouse-rabbit like him to understand.

  
She dines with Ty Lee and Mai. Almost romantic, the sounds of the storm around them. The ship rocks around them, a gentle sway.

  
It's calming. She loves the respect in her friends' eyes.

  
And then, as she forks some more meat - turtleduck breast, the thing that became her favorite early on, much to Zuzu and Mother's dismay - onto her plate, the engeneer bursts in:

  
"PRINCESS, THE DECK IS FREEZING! SOMETHING IS WRONG, AND WE NEED TO GET BACK TO THE SHORE!" She yells.

  
She wants to lash out, to tell the little sparrowkeet to mind her voice when talking to her superiors.   


But, despite Ty Lee's squawk, and Mai's confused voice, she is only curious.

  
"Take me to the deck, and get the firebenders to thaw out the frozen area." she orders, getting up. "This is a fast ship. A sturdy vessel. The engines are still running fine, aren't they?"

  
"Y-Yes, ma'am!" she stutters. Azula steps into her foot, just strong enough to let her know.

  
To the deck they go. The pebbles fall like balls of ice, and her breath comes out in hot puffs.

  
It isn't out of control, though. Never is.

  
"THAW OUT THE FROZEN AREAS!" she screams "AND KEEP THE ENGINES RUNNING!"

  
The storm rages too much. She didn't know anything but Father's throne, his fire, could be that mighty. It isn't natural. The waves shouldn't leave ice in their wake, the icy pebbles shouldn't burn when they hit her skin.

  
And soon, thunder makes itself heard. Thunder- but there's no lightning.

  
Sound is meant to travel slower than ice. But that thunder, it's-

  
It's like footsteps.

  
Someone's screaming.

  
"THERE ARE EYES!" the soldier yells. "THERE ARE EYES IN THE SKY-"

  
And a wave sweeps him off the deck. Like a hand swats a fly.

  
And the waves are lashing against the vessel, the realizes.

  
The thunder-footsteps and the screaming and the world is all too loud, and this isn't a battlefield because they have no chance to fight-

  
"AZULA-" Ty Lee screams, scrambling into the deck. Mai is eerily quiet, behind her.

  
They are collapsing, the ship thrown around like a child's toy, but before she can fully grasp, grapple with that fact, a wave sweeps her off. Angry hands, killing flies.

  
Making them tumble into the deck, throwing them around like rag dolls.

  
Princess Azula, armored heavily, is jolted into the sea, before she can fight, before she can plan for it.

  
The angry eyes of the ocean focus upon her, as she grapples with her failing armor, desperately trying to get it off.

  
As she-

  
As she can't breathe, and as she hears Ty Lee scream for her, and as she hears something else hit the water.

  
She drifts out before the explosion, the hit of lightning.

-

  
The boy sleeps awake.

  
He can't see much, his blurry eyes, and the way everything is too bright, and he can feel anger that isn't quite his. But he can't remember why.

  
The boy sleeps awake, locked inside the collective, screaming hivemind of... Something. A thousand voices. He is one of them, he realizes blearily. He just isn't screaming quite yet.

  
But he's stirring, as the ocean slaps ships around, and blows up their cargos, and as he punishes unanimously, chaos embodied, chaos undying.

  
It isn't poetic. Not that he knows what poetic means, and not that any of the voices would bother telling him.

  
It is simply unfair.

  
But he can't move, and every time he thinks he can, he feels the hands of the past-hims, of the ocean himself, pulling him, pushing and shoving.

  
And, before he can ever fight it, the not-sleep overtakes him yet again.

  
And he despises it.

  
The boy hates it so much.

  
He hates how he can't even remember his own name. He hates the voices.

  
And, whenever he's sleep-awake, there but not quite, never in control, he wants to cry.

  
He wants to be angry.

  
He is angry.

  
They are all angry.

  
-

General Fong's library is an expansive, winding thing. It's something to behold, and, for the first time in those week-days, that time that blends together like marbling paint, she sees Sokka truly happy.

  
But something is wrong. And he feels it too. It's subtle, like the scent of the sea in the air.

  
It's something about the general and his half-made efforts to help the people closer to the shore, the ever-ravaged beaches and fishing towns.

  
"It's moving south." he says. 

  
She knows that.

  
"It's moving towards the fire nation." he mutters, to someone who may be important, late into the night, as she and Sokka leave the library, kicked out with their tomes. "It will weaken them more than it ever did before"

  
And she shouldn't feel bad about it.

  
They're ashmakers, they took _mom_.

  
"But we have to stop it." she says "They are people too, Sokka. They bleed and they die, just like us."

  
"You know very well that he's right. Just let it be." he argues, muttered whispers in the night.

  
The moon watches them. 

  
She wonders about that girl, that girl they'd found dead. The girl Sokka adored. How does she feel? Is she up there? Is she disappointed, in how little they are doing?

  
"It would stop them, if all their territory were destroyed. No more earth kingdom people would have to die fighting, Katara."

  
  
"I won't argue that putting an end to them would be convenient" she admits "But how many of these people- the innocent ones - would have to go?"

  
"A sacrifice." he says.

  
She wants to cry, because he agrees, he agrees with that fool, he agrees with the grownups-

  
"Not a worthy one to be made. What if La doesn't stop with the fire nation?" she asks. The tears want to sting at her eyes, but she is too... Too little, too much. Angry, and upset, at everything and everyone.

  
"Sokka, what if he hits back home?"

-

Azula's eyes open. She can't recognize the beach she's awaken in.

  
Her face feels dirty, and her limbs are heavy, and it feels worse than any training session could predict or prepare for.

  
"Azula!" a familiar voice stirs her, brings her back to reality "Mai, I found her!"

  
Someone squats down beside her.

  
Ty Lee. Her face looks too pretty in the morning light, the part of Azula that has a half-frozen brain says.

  
She has company, now, and she cannot groan or grunt as she gets up. Her bed of sand is wet, sticking to her.

  
No hiss of pain escapes her lips, and she refuses to shift her weight, even as she realizes the pain in her left ankle. She is the princess of ner nation, and she knows what happened.

  
"Well, girls. Any other survivors?" she straightens up. Her voice comes out hoarse.

  
She has a bad throat. She shouldn't get sick, but oh well.

  
"We didn't see anyone else, until we found you, at least."

  
"A shame." she tilts her head, as the words slip casually. "Let's get going, then. We must've landed back in the earth kingdom shore, so we will soon find some sort of village."

  
"Alright-y!" Ty Lee chirps. "Mai, come on!"

  
The girl had been sitting on a rock, complaining to herself about something.

  
"This sucks. I lost my knife."

  
"Which one?" Ty Lee asks. 

  
"Doesn't matter. We can get you a new one later." Azula says, scanning her pockets, hidden in the pieces of clothing under the armor. She feels naked, without it. "We have a good amount of gold. Enough for a messenger hawk back home. The northern provinces are full of neutral territories."

  
The sand is wet, and the waves are still lapping. Trying to reach them.

  
She knew some of the plan. Enough to understand that there was a siege at the savage capital. Enough to know that it failed, miserably.

  
She tsk-s softly, as they pass a lost helmet. Ty Lee gasps, as if she's just realized people may have died.

  
"We'll go east from here" she says "And we'll find a guide."

  
"What about-" she doesn't care for what Ty Lee was going to ask, for Mai, gracefully, shuts her up.

  
The beach is loaded with pieces of armor, but there isn't a single corpse to be found. Is it relief, what she feels? Oh well. Less bodies to cremate, she argues. Let the sea keep them.

  
It's almost confusing, how there are barely any other remains of the ship. That spirit, it's a greedy thing.

  
They find the ruins of a tiny agglomeration of houses. Not even notable enough to be a town. 

  
The odd lack of any corpses indicates survivors. Enough of them to do burials.

  
She can see them, the fresh graves. A dirty way to dispose of something that is no longer needed. Dirty like those filthy people. 

  
"Someone's been here. We'll keep going." she says. 

  
It isn't the same shore she'd found Uncle Fatso in. Too small of a town. They must be somewhere more to the east, closer to some unimportant merchant towns. Gaoling, probably.

  
Azula doesn't lose her breath control, but she still feels the exhaustion pressing at her. Her clothing feels too thick, her boots feel too heavy. She still manages to miss the pressure of the breastplate.

  
She is angry, at that weakness. Physical and mental.

  
Azula knows she is about to get sick, again.

  
(When she was a child, getting sick always meant getting Zuzu sick. If she was going down, so was he.

  
And then, when she inevitably succeeded, he would accuse her of cruelty, as they laid down in infirmary cots, getting their temperatures checked.

  
And, later in the night, he'd get less grumpy and they'd try to sneeze out fire and smoke.

  
She doesn't miss him.

  
He was weak, and he never got the chance to be strong.

  
To grow up.

  
She realizes she is now older than she ever saw him get.)

  
Pitiful weakness. She won't succumb to it. Azula is a princess, not a random child, or a child at all.

  
She swallows down her cough, but Mai doesn't.

  
"Aw, shwits." she swears. Her nose is bleeding. The scent of the copper travels the few feet between them, but she looks back nonetheless. Only then, she realizes her companion's crooked nose. Broken.

  
"Blood?!" Ty Lee gasps, like she's never seen it before. "Do you want to stop and rest?"

  
"No lazying around, you two." Azula orders. "We need-" swallowing down a sneeze "A doctor. After that, we're tracking down General Iroh." better kill two birds with one stone, after all. Getting rid of Uncle Fatso would be for the best, at the moment.

  
"Maybe there's a colony- or some army thing, near here!" Ty Lee says. 

  
"No, girls." she remembers the maps. She's memorized them. "We're in the Gaoling province. Not important enough for settlements, but it's neutral enough."

  
"Oh? Gaoling?" Mai asks. When Azula looks back, she theorizes what broke her nose. The most plausible guess is that she either fell on the deck, or hit some sort of rock. But then, she remembers, falling into the sea can be like falling into concrete.

  
Especially when it's freezing.

  
"Never heard about that one before, have you?" Ty Lee asks, foolishly going forward, in front of them, seemingly the lucky one out, unharmed.

  
Azula knows she can't be that stupid. But her demeanor is nice, sometimes.

  
"I bet we'll find so many cool people there!"

-

They become desperate. Days spent pouring over scroll after scroll, consulting charlatans in town temples, leaving booze and cigars on spirit shrines.

  
But they find no answers.

  
"I know of this place." a scholar tells them, one night, as they study the general's library. "It's the biggest library in the world. A spirit library."

  
"Where?" she and Sokka snap in unison.

  
The night is cold, and the breeze drifts in with a smell that, in her head, is almost blood.

  
"It's in a desert. A place of legends, they say a spirit runs the place."

  
Sokka makes a disbelieving noise.

  
"No way. You aren't the first one to try to trick us." he isn't. He doesn't sound like he's trying to trick them, though.

  
But the most dangerous man is the one stupid enough to believe what he says.

  
"Wan Shi Tong is the only one who may know what you need. I've seen you pouring over spiritual stuff." he says "I've been to that library, and I can bring you back there. You're the kids with that bison, right?"

  
She stops her brother from speaking.

  
"Yes, we are. Where is the place you speak of?" 

  
"Si Wong desert." he whispers the name "It's in the central area of the kingdom. Finding the place won't be very hard."

  
"When do we have to pack?" she asks.

  
"Katara, you can't just believe anything people tell you!" Sokka whisper-yells in her ear. "For-"

  
"What do we have to lose?" she asks him, hushed, as if the silence won't carry the words. 

  
And, when Sokka looks at the man again, he too nods. 

  
Despair. That is the thing, deep in her stomach. Despair. She's desperate.

  
And she's going to do anything to get her friend back.

-

The Gaoling streets are too loud, around the three of them.

  
Dirty peasants, all these people. Not even worth despising. They're barely there enough to be deserving of apathy. Lesser than even rabbit-mouses, or sparrowkeets.

  
But she needs one of them right now. Something she can employ usefully. It would be easier, if she looked like the noblewoman she is.

  
And, as she scans through the streets - anyone who fits it, her need for someone who isn't too likely to fight back, but not too unfamiliar with the place, or too ready to scam them, she overhears a little bit of talk.

  
"I'm going to the earth rubble today!" a boy brags, as if watching a bunch of dirt-eaters is a good way to spend time.

  
"Oh, what is that?" Ty Lee chimes in, her posture the very best. Cute. Seductive, to some. But she can't fully abandom the tiny bit of tension, that tells Azula she'd rather not be in that situation.

  
"A wrestling arena." the other boy says, gesticulating wildly "It's the very best!"

  
"See, girls?" she asks them "Maybe we can get a wrestler, to help us do it!"

  
"A... Wrestler." Mai says, and Azula laughs.

  
"Oh, please. Don't be foolish, wrestlers aren't really the kind of person we need. Not for this, Ty Lee."

  
"You've never seen the blind bandit, have you?" he childishly laughs. "She's amazing!"

  
"Oh, shame. We don't have much on us right now, you see." she tries to do it as well as Ty Lee does, but sadly, she wasn't trained for that sort of situation.

  
"Well, I can pay you a ticket!" the boy says, merrily.

  
She smirks, and puts on a cutesy facade. She knows she is meant to be infallible, and so, in his face, she sees her success.

  
Azula's never met someone who sees through her. She shrugs off a hand from her shoulder, because even the men of the dirt should know better than to put their hands into the fire.

  
"Well, if you're inviting me." she says, voice smooth and soft "You should bring my friends along, too."

  
He takes a look at Ty Lee. No fear, good, even when faced against Mai. That isn't a battlefield, not quite yet.

  
But soon... That little man will meet his fate.

  
His fate is bankruptcy.

  
Apparently, the tickets are rather expensive. But he's already invited Azula, and it would be rude of him to renounce now. She's let it clear, that if her friends don't come, neither will she.

  
And so, they are led through the city, down to what she supposes is the arena. 

  
It smells of sweat, like a courtyard used too often for training. Sweat and dirt.

  
Disgustingly unsanitary, those people. Filth.

  
But she watches, as Ty Lee makes small talk, and Mai grunts that it's taking too long, and she is quietly enduring the boy's chitchat, she can't help but agree that yes, that place, for lack of a more formal and adequate word, "sucks".

  
But she watches. The announcer loudly proclaims, that is the fifth edition of the "Magnificent Earth Kingdom Rubble".

  
"Which one of them is that blind bandit of yours?" Ty Lee asks. She lets the boy wrap his arm around her shoulder.

  
How does she not despise it? Him? Do nonbenders just not run so warm that every touch feels cold? She wants to touch her, suddenly. But she is a woman of class. She doesn't do touches.

  
"She's gonna come in soon, don't worry about it." he says. "You're gonna see what-"

  
Someone screams. No, cheers.

  
Cheering. They're cheering.

  
Somebody's coming in.

  
Curiosity may kill the cat, but Azula isn't a cat.

-

Their vessel grows weak.

  
It isn't meant for that, to stay there, breathless, still and focused, for so long.

  
Some monks, back then, believed in certain practices, with their meditation. Self-mummification, some called it that. Knowledge. Worthless amidst the screaming. Their screaming.

  
None of them know why they are screaming anymore. They rage for they must. They are blind and angry and cold.

  
But they can all see it. The body is growing weak.

  
Scrawny arms stark-white palid, sickly. Ribs that jut out like the vessel's just a skeleton.

  
It's barely human, now.

  
But it doesn't matter.

  
The vessel is growing weak, and they know that soon it won't be needed anymore.

  
They just have to last long enough to get rid of the moon-killers. Of all of them.

  
And they all know it. They're all aware that vessels can be very resilient, afterall.

-

Azula finds her, after the fight.

  
The crowd is dissipating, and the girl is leaving with her brand new meaningless belt.

  
They still have a little gold, hidden in Azula's boots. The boy - Li or something, it doesn't matter, he's disposable now - paid for them, so they got to keep what they already had.

  
And really, she is a child. 

  
Isn't that wonderful? A child of an inferior breed, of course, but that lends itself out more. Children, even prodigial, talented ones, can be easily manipulated.

  
Of course, that's a rule of thumb. But Azula is more than enough of an exception of it, isn't she?

  
"Greetings." she says.

  
"Hey, you good?" the kid asks, gruffly. Clearly not used to being around people, despite her status.

  
"I am, indeed." they have gotten out of the stadium. The streets are cold around them "Not as good as you must be, right now."

  
"So, you're the Blind Bandit." she says, casually, upon not receiving a response. Ty Lee and Mai are waiting for her clue. She can see them moving around in the shadows. 

  
Just a second option. In case this doesn't go as planned. But it isn't going to.

  
"Yup, and you?"

  
"Would you be up to a job?" she takes out the little bag of gold. Shakes it around, passess it from hand to hand. Around, tempting.

  
"Tempting. It's gold in there, isn't it?" she asks, but doesn't try to reach it. Smart. Maybe a bit too smart. 

  
"Yes, and you can have it, if you come with us." she says.

  
"I might need a bit more convincing, but go on. What do you want me to do?"

  
"A simple task. Be our guide, help us capture a fugitive. Nothing you can't do, clearly."

  
"And who are you? Still haven't told me that, buddy."

  
Azula smiles.

  
"I am Princess Azula of the Fire Nation." she says "And you're coming with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my fav subplot is coming in
> 
> i want u to watch the girls try cooking  
> azula is the cause of 10 separate wildfires


	6. A spiral of ants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something brews in the horizon and in our heroes alike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: raw meat, animal death, vagueish gore stuff, self starvation (?)

  
  
  
  


They only stop again when night is falls, blankets of cool wind and comforting darkness enveloping his exhausted body in a hug.

  
  


Zuko hates it. He despises it with a fervent passion, the way his body begs for him to rest and to hunt simultaneously. 

  
  


It wasn't meant to be like this. Despite his fire being gone, his sense of Agni, fading away at the horizon, is still there. And it hurts.

  
  


But, at the same time that the disappearance of the great sun makes him want to sleep, a part of him feels energized. Feels like hunting.

  
  


They must feed. But Zuko isn't hungry, he tells himself. And even if he was, he doesn't need food anymore. He'll only eat so nobody worries.

  
  


His death will come again and again. And, as Uncle stops to rest and set camp, he perchs down on the roots of a tree, and tries to sleep.

  
  


"Junior, are you okay?" Yue pants, collapsing on the grassy path, legs outstretched.

  
  


"Not Junior." he grumbles, feeling childish but insisting nonetheless. 

  
  


"Alright, then." she tells him, clearly begrudging. "But are you fine? You've just died, right?"

  
  


"I didn't die right now." he growls out "I died this morning, and I'm FINE!"

  
  


Yue gives him a look. He doesn't know what it means, other than that he doesn't like it.

  
  


"DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT!" He yells and turns back.

  
  


"Zuko." Uncle chides gently "You need to keep calm, or you'll scare away all the wildlife."

  
  


He is angry at the reminder of his natural purpose. To hunt.

  
  


He wants to scream.

  
  


"I'll go find some food, and, by the time I come back, I want you two acting like normal kids."

  
  


The two normal kids look at him. One of them has forbidden spiritual knowledge and can scream for an hour without interruption. The other is Zuko.

  
  


"Don't worry about it, Mr. Iroh." Yue smiles "I'll keep Junior from doing anything too drastic."

  
  


"Only if sleeping is a drastic thing." he spits out, and she giggles.

  
  


Zuko resists the Azula-like urge to pelt her with tiny rocks. She is part of the flock, now, and it's just a question of time until she understands the pecking order. He doesn’t need to be cruel about it.

  
  


"Fine, fine. I'll die of boredom, then." she dramatically swipes at her forehead.

  
  


"You're not a good actress" he grumbles, and raises his head up, going stiff as a small log.

  
  


It's cozy for him, even if Yue is laughing her ass off.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


They are on foot, so traveling is something that will take its time.

  
  


Yue raises her concerns at dinnertime, as Iroh roasts a pineabblerry over the tiny fire he's set up with some log he'd dried.

  
  


It is huge, dwarfing the flame as its juice drips onto it.

  
  


"Are you sure you don't want to take a boat?" she asks, whispering as quietly as she possibly can. "It would be quicker."

  
  


"But then, Princess Yue, we would have no way to avoid La's wrath."

  
  


"He didn't reach us in the raft, though." she eyes the skewer. Anything looks appetizing, at this point.

  
  


"But it's better to be safe than to be sorry." Iroh says, patient as always. How does he afford it?

  
  


Will time mellow Yue out like it surely did for him?

  
  


"Uncle, she's right." Junior-Zuko says, eyes still half-closed, as he wakes up. Maybe he always was awake, she thinks, as he'd surely heard the conversation. "We do need to be quick on our feet if we want to catch the avatar."

  
  


"Zuko" his uncle starts "We know his wrath. Therefore, it's best we find another way of stopping him, without putting us in danger before we even have a plan, in the end."

  
  


"Like what?" Yue asks. She is unfamiliar with the fauna and flora of that place, but nonetheless, she doubts that they have domesticated polarbear-dogs.

  
  


"I was thinking, perhaps an ostrich-horse?" Iroh smiles "They're wonderful creatures, and the ones bred in the northern edge of the earth kingdom tend to be particularly sturdy."

  
  


"Where would we get one of those?" Yue asks, uninclined to let them know she'd never even been aware of the existence of that creature.

  
  


Maybe she had been, though. She doesn't remember the right name, but she remembers pictures.

  
  


It doesn't make a difference, though. Not at this point.

  
  


"We can steal one." Zuko says, opening his eyes fully. The light reflects off of them in an unnatural way. She wonders how much of it comes from him being a firebender.

  
  


"We will need more than one, and I don't know if we will be welcome in the next village we pass." Yue says.

  
  


"We don't need to be welcome." Iroh chimes in. "We just need to get there."

  
  


“The village people told me of a lady around here. She might have what we need.” She says.

  
  


Yue is a free woman, and she doesn't have any choice but to be a bit euphoric, at the chance of proving it to herself.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


"I'll distract the woman." Yue whispers, as they find the house. 

  
  


"Not if you don't need to." Zuko resists the urge to peck her. "You might as well rat us out, if you make any noise."

  
  


"You two will stay here." he says "And do something if you see someone looking into the pen.

  
  


"Fair enough." Uncle tells him "But are you sure you don't need any help?"

  
  


He doesn't rise with the moon, but these days, he doesn't set with it either.

  
  


"I won't."

  
  


"Wait." Iroh stops him, when he turns to go "I could talk to the people, get you some clothes."

  
  


"We're already taking their animals." Zuko says "No need to take any more than what we need."

  
  


"Sorry, but you do need clothes." Yue says "How are we supposed to walk into the town square otherwise?"

  
  


"Naked." Zuko deadpans, thinking himself extremely funny.

  
  


Nobody laughs.

  
  


"Fine." he admits "Uncle, you talk to them. Keep them distracted. If they look at the pen, Yue will do something really stupid while i run off with the horses."

  
  
  


This is going to be the worst heist Zuko's ever participated in. Zuko also happened to die in his last heist.

  
  


However, he does not have enough of a history with kidnapping-hunting-preying to say that he is conclusively bad at it. It was twice, and he only died once. 

  
  


So, he watches as Uncle goes for the door, looking incredibly natural. It is a tiny cottage, only minorly damaged from the storm. The pen was in a bit of disrepair, but he could see a pair of animals sleeping in there.

  
  


He doesn’t see any guard crow-dogs. It’s empty.

  
  


He tunes out the conversation, and lets his now improved night vision take the lead.

  
  


Seeing in the night no longer unnatural.

  
  


Good, good, he thinks, but doesn’t have time to dwell on it.

  
  


He tries to remember as much information about ostrich-horses as he can, so he may predict what these will behave like. The fire nation breeds are small, at least the ones they'd used in the palace. Bred for their fancy white-and-red coats, they’d pulled carriages and palanquins.

  
  


They were not always docile, despite their training.

  
  


Hopefully, those will be good and compliant.

  
  


They smell like food. No, not they. Their pens. Someone fed them leftovers, and Zuko has to resist the urge to eat them.

He can hear Uncle talking, and the door closing - possibly behind him -, and he can feel Yue's stare from the trees.

  
  


When he looks, she gives him a thumbs-up and a little smile. He tries to calm down his racing heart. 

  
  


He's still weak, and he won't let his body betray him. No tremble can be seen, not this time. Anything that isn't fine-tuned for silence will be too loud.

  
  


He used to be fond of the royal steeds. Those are bigger, of a solid, mud brown. They look overall sturdier. There's only two of them, and one is clearly only a baby but Zuko can go on foot, and Yue can ride with Uncle.

  
  


It isn’t a decision, which one to steal. As repulsive as the idea is, the smaller one could become veal, if need be.

  
  


He sees a bit of rope. No saddles, but the animals are kind of compliant as he ties it around their beaks.

  
  


They don’t recognize him, and he can see their tails lashing about, even as he slowly starts leading them. Compliant. Docile. Good.

  
  


There’s a reason Zuko used to be the Blue Spirit.

  
  


-

  
  
  


Yue watches. She can't see very well, in the night so dark like that.

  
  


The moon has been... Greyer. A bit dimmer. It may be only her mind, though. It might just be the loss of her blessing, now that she thinks about it.

  
  


And she doesn't have time to dwell on it. She watches Zuko, illuminated by the faint light coming off the window, as he carefully ties the horses and leads the pair. They're barely awake, and he's roped their beaks. 

  
  


She can see in their eyes, even from the distance, the moment they realize they’re being led away from their stable. It’s in the way they drag their feet, dig in their falons, and flap their wings, trying to make a sound. It’s in the way it’s too late.

  
  


Iroh distracts the woman of the house. Lone habitant of the place, if Yue remembered it right.

  
  


Her heart flaps like the birds' wings, as the woman says something from inside the house. The neighing of the ostrich-horses, as muffled as it was, was still enough to bother her. To make her notice.

  
  


Iroh tries to stop her from making her way to the window, but Yue can still see her silhouette approaching.

  
  


She hears her.

  
  


"I'll just give a quick check, my fair traveler." she says, gently. "I won't be gone for long, and you can keep looking at the clothes. Take whatever you please, for those children of yours. I'll give you some leftovers, too. Just wait a minute."

  
  


"Actually-" she hears Iroh mutter, but it's too late.

  
  


Zuko lowers himself to the floor, but the animals are still tied, agitated and out of their pens.

  
  


"Weird." the woman mutters, and, as she moves to look out of the window - under her, right where Junior stands, Yue realizes.

  
  


And starts screaming.

  
  


"IT'S THE SOLDIERS!" she yells "THEY'RE COMING! RUN!"

  
  


They didn't plan this through. Yue doesn't know how planned-through missions work, but this is not how it’s supposed to work. Her body vibrates with anxiety, and she lets the fear show.

  
  


Iroh is still in the house.

  
  


Zuko was mid-theft, and his product is now being stared at by the woman.

  
  


The ostrich-horses, with her screaming, start flailing about even more wildly, trying to escape the grasp that still holds them.

  
  


She realizes Zuko is going to get stepped on if he doesn't let the rope go, and if he does, he is going to lose their catch.

  
  


"JUNIOR!" she yells, and suddenly, as his head snaps, realizes her mistake "THEY TOOK MY SON!"

  
  
  


"What?" the woman is confused, as she leaves the window, and goes through, out of the door.

  
  


Yue doesn’t try to keep calm. Despair is only helpful, this time around.

  
  


"THEY TOOK MY KID!" she screams, but can't bring herself to cry. Maybe shock will do? Yue used to make a good shock face.

  
  


"They what? They who?" the woman asks, stopped mid-track to her ostrich-horses.

  
  


Right as she’s about to make some sort of gesture for him to move, Yue sees Zuko taking control of the situation, by running and dragging the animals.

  
  


But then, as Yue scrambles for something else, tries to stall for Iroh to leave the house, the woman realizes the animals are starting to get away, neighing as they’re led out.

  
  


"HEY, YOU!" she screeches "STOP THAT!"

  
  


"ZUKO, RUN!" She does the same.

  
  


But, hearing the voice of its owner, the smaller one turns back, and tries to stop on its tracks, instead of letting itself be led away by Zuko.

  
  


Yue grabs a rock. That will have to do.

  
  


But no, she doesn't have the strength to throw it at the woman.

  
  


So, grabbing it, she turns back, and, against all her instincts, runs towards the woman, as silently as she can.

  
  


As Iroh steps out of the house, Yue hits the woman on the back of her head with a rock.

  
  


She screams, and falls, but it isn't enough to knock her out.

  
  


A second time will be sufficient, for her to go out and not see them get away.

  
  


So, Yue hits. Twice, and then thrice.

  
  


"Yue?" Iroh asks, with a pile of clothes.

  
  


"Questions later" she pants out "Sir."

  
  


Zuko signals at them fervently, from the treeline. The bigger animal has, for the moment, stopped thrashing about, instead digging its heels in and hissing desperately, its foal cowering under it.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


"So. That. Was-" Yue gasps out, as they slowly stop running, confident in being hidden by the trees. "Not your best, I suppose."

  
  
  


"Don't insult me, you idiot!" he screams at her, and then, at the ostrich horse, he says "Shh, buddy. Don't worry, it's not your fault. You're a good girl."

  
  
  


He ignores her attempt at sinking her beak into him.

  
  


"It's your fault we got caught!" he admonishes. "And when that woman wakes up, she’ll probably get someone to come after us.”

  
  


"Zuko, Yue, stop fighting. Don’t blame each other either, not now." Uncle says. "We have to get away faster."

  
  


Yue keeps her mouth shut, despite her urge to tell Zuko off for taking a foal with him. A big foal, sure, but still, one that won't withstand the weight of a human.

  
  


It is quite adorable, though.

  
  


Reaching out a tentative hand, she decides that birds are not worth it, as it sinks its beak onto her hand.

  
  


"So, if we don't get any more food, we can eat these, right?" she gasps out, flailing to get its sharp beak off her hand.

  
  


"NO!" Zuko yells, and the animals both flinch. "We're not eating it, you savage!"

  
  


She looks at him, barely escaping the tiny animal’s grasp, barely managing to not get bitten again. Thankful for that, Yue decides she would otherwise not survive the humiliation.

  
  


Iroh sighs.

  
  


"Zuko, sacrifices are needed sometimes." he says, and then amends "We won't eat the baby, though."

  
  


Zuko pats the hen’s neck.

  
  


"See, girl? You'll both be fine." he mutters to it.

  
  


Yue snorts.

  
  


"You're not even going to ride this thing?" she asks.

  
  


"Man and steed need trust in each other, before going into battle together." Iroh says "Also, this thing nearly trampled Zuko. That's also... A factor."

  
  


"She's a good girl, though." he says, suddenly looking like a boy. "Aren't you?"

  
  


He tries to pet her, immediately gets beaked in the back of his unfortunate-looking head, tripping on a rock and falling onto his face.

  
  


Yue isn't mean enough to openly point at him and laugh.

  
  


Openly.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Zuko lies awake, all night long. He is only keeping guard, he tells himself, as he stops his roaming around the newly improvised camp - they didn’t even put out the fire they’d had on the other settlement - and sits down beside the stolen animals.

  
  


Right out of reach, because he is good enough at his job to learn from his own mistakes.

  
  


"When we're back at the palace, you're going to live a life of luxury." he promises to the hen in a whisper. It is stupid, he knows, but she deserves it.

  
  


She doesn't answer, besides fixating one eye on him, barely open but nonetheless angry.

  
  


"Wait a minute here." Zuko has an idea. Ostrich-horses are omnivorous. They’re also big predators, in the wild. 

  
  


He is tired, but he can probably hunt something down for her. To show that they're allies.

  
  


That they're going to help her.

  
  


"You're gonna love this." he smiles. "But you're going to have to share, fine?"

  
  


He’s still hungry, but it isn’t for him (despite how delicious the thought of meat seems at the moment). It is for the baby.

  
  


He doesn't know why he didn't object before, or why he isn't objecting now, but he is a human. He is wholly, fully human, and he can't eat raw meat.

  
  


Maybe he could as a bird. Maybe that's why he didn't think much of it when he felt like feasting on raw meat.

  
  


So, he gets up, ignores the dizziness and the fact that he nearly tumbles down again. He knows he is weak, but nobody has to see it. It's shameful, and it’s dumb, and not even the horse needs to pity him.

  
  


They're out of the forest, far away from the place they stole the ostrich-mom and her baby earlier that night. He can feel the incoming sunrise. Agni is waking up, sending the greying clouds of dawn to greet his blessed. Most things must be asleep, at this time of the day, but Zuko, he isn't really... He isn't like them. Not anymore.

  
  


The first few steps after getting up are hard. His head goes dizzy, and the world spins and twirls around him. But he can still see it, oddly well, skittering in the treeline. 

  
  


A rabbit-mouse.

  
  


(That's what Azula called their servants.)

t will serve them well.

  
  


It is so much easier to use his hands, now, even if they're not as coordinated as they could-should be. He resists the urge to bite the thing cleanly in half, to swallow it whole.

  
  


He didn't even have to go far. But it's still twitching in his grasp. Suddenly realizing that he’s lost his knife, and that he doesn’t have anything sharp on him, he looks around.

  
  


But it’s just a little animal. It’s frail, and it’s twitching and twisting in his grasp, desperately making little noises.

  
  


It’s tiny, and scared, and Zuko wants to end the job cleanly, quickly. So, he whispers a prayer to its spirit, and smashes its head against the closest boulder

  
  


It looks even more like food, limp like that.

  
  


He can almost feel hungry.

  
  


_Almost,_ he tells himself.

  
  


But he will keep the rest for the group tomorrow, whatever he doesn't feed to their animals. Uncle would probably enjoy a curry, but they don’t have the spices for anything like that, and Yue might know how to cook something nice without the ample array of ingredients used in the Fire Nation.

  
  


He walks back to the camp, holding the still-warm rabbit-mouse on his hand. He wants it too. He could eat it in any way. 

  
  


He’s too relieved to feel hungry to be horrified at the fact that he might want to eat it like that, raw and still bleeding.

  
  


"Hey, girl." he says, gently. She's just scared, he knows.

  
  


He's scared too.

  
  


But he can't help the bit of anger he feels, at the rejection of the food, with an angry caw.

  
  


"Come on." he tells her. "It's safe, see?"

  
  


She eyes the food, and then him, animal eyes disbelieving.

  
  


"Fine." he says, and takes it back. "I'll eat it too. You'll see, it probably tastes really good."

  
  


He isn't excited for this. He isn't.

  
  


Ripping out a leg, he wonders if it will give him luck.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


Yue lays in the garden, her beloved’s push and pull all around her as she swims after him. Their home is tiny, and they don’t want it in any other way.

  
  


She is the mother of the night. She is the light, shining in the sky.

  
  


She gave up her wings, and instead of heaven, she soars the sea.

  
  


She is peaceful. They are one.

  
  


Yue hates it, and she can't stop it.

  
  


She knows what’s going to happen. She sees the bone-white hand, the eyes full of contempt.

  
  


She-

  
  


Comes to not feeling like she’s quite there, with a weird noise. Chewing. Chewing and talking.

  
  


It would be weird - they’d been living in a raft with little to no food for so long it stopped being horrible - even if it were not night at the moment

  
  


Zuko sits a bit farther back from her. He is facing the ostrich-horse hen, as he deliberately chews something.

  
  


She gets up, curious. She hadn't smelled anything cooking, and she was sure they had no more hardtack biscuits.

  
  


Silently, she sneaks out from his bad side, the one where he clearly sees poorly from.

  
  


Zuko’s mouth is stained with blood, as he eats a raw chunk of dripping meat.

  
  


"See?" he tells the animal. "Come on, it isn't poison. You can have it."

  
  


It pokes its beak into the rest of the carcass, curiously, and takes a little bite. Restrained but hungry.

  
  


Zuko is hungry, too. He doesn't even seem to realize he's eating it raw, Yue suddenly thinks.

  
  


"Good morning." she forces naturality into her tone. Like it's normal.

  
  


He looks at her, like nothing is wrong.

  
  


There are bits of raw meat stuck between his teeth as he replies something oddly polite.

  
  


-

  
  
  


Zuko's Uncle rides the ostrich-horse to the next town.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


Upon their arrival, Yue smells cooking meat.

  
  


The simple thought of it, coupled with the sight of the Fire Nation ship from the last morning, is enough to make her feel dizzy.

  
  


What if the Fire Nation soldiers are there?

  
  


_What if-_

  
  


"Young Yue?" Iroh asks, from the ostrich-horse's back. It neighs when the improvised reigns are pulled, and its baby catches up to it, curiously looking at its mother. "Are you alright?"

  
  


Yue wants to turn back and run, but she nods.

  
  


"Who's cooking?" Zuko asks, as they catch up to him. 

  
  


"Iroh, do you think there are any firebenders?" She asks. “What if they’re-”

  
  


"No, Young Yue. There's a great difference between the smell of burned meat and cooking food. Try to discern the spices, won’t you?”

  
  


“Actually…” Zuko starts “It smells really good.”

  
  


They pass the first house, and enter the remains of the town itself. The destruction is not unusual, and the damage seems to have been done a good while ago. 

  
  


But what strikes Yue, what really scares her, is that there's nobody there.

  
  


No noise escapes the searched rubble. No corpses litter the streets. There are no signals of any burials.

  
  


"Actually-" Iroh starts, climbing off the hen "It looks like this place has already been searched."

  
  


"Yeah, but there are no footsteps." Zuko says, his head tilted and his brow furrowed. "So it's must’ve been some time since it hit this place.”

  
  


"And thus, the survivors must be around." the other man says, looking back at them and smiling. 

  
  


Yue smiles back, relieved she won't have to deal with any more bodies. No, she realizes. Relieved that there will be no more guilt. No more death, not now.

  
  


She can't bring her strained, aching legs to go much faster, and thus, lags a bit behind as they scavenge around. Iroh and Zuko call for anyone, clearly trying to make sure that they won’t miss anyone.

  
  


Broken, rotten wood, sand and puddles of dirty water. But there’s nobody. Not until they hit a particularly clean area, where a garden- maybe a park, or something along those lines. It isn’t like she’s ever seen anything other than her city that wasn’t destroyed - once stood.

  
  


Someone has set up a campfire, atop the remnants of an old fountain. The small fire, dim and dull, is a sign of bad wood, either rotting or damp. Atop it, though, there’s something roasting. A kind of… Poultry?

  
  


Now that they're closer, they can see other people walking towards that same direction. They're coming from the direction of the sea.

  
  


A trio of them. Two boys walk excitedly, skipping afront a woman - probably their mother - in an excited fashion, only stopping when they see them.

  
  


"HALT!" A little boy yells, running up to the other side. "WHO ART THY?!"

  
  


"It's " _thee_ ", actually." Iroh says, smiling and approaching with a wave "I am Guanting, and these are my children, Ming and Junior."

  
  


“My name isn’t Junior, please stop calling me that!” Junior objects.

  
  


“His name’s _Junior Junior_.” she says, as he explodes at her.

  
  


Yue doesn't hide her smile, even if she tries to make it a gentle thing, something other than mischievous glee at her companion's distaste.

  
  


"Pleasure to meet y'all." the woman says, sounding incredibly displeased. "I'm Shun and these boys are my kids too."

  
  


"I'm Gang!" the other boy - the one that had lagged behind with his mother - says, waving. He looks older, about ten, contrasting his brother's six. 

  
  


"And I'm Hong!" the other one smiles, in all his terrifyingly gap-toothed glory.

  
  


He's small, and smells of wet sand and grease. But hey, so does she. 

  
  


"Now that we are all introduced, do you know what happened here?" Iroh asks, suddenly more serious. "Are you the only survivors?"

  
  


"We think so." the woman says, shaking her head. Her hair is long and greasy. "Me and the boys had gone on a trip, and when we came back, everything was destroyed and all the people were gone."

  
  


They all look at each other.

  
  


"That... Is odd." Iroh mutters "In the other towns, there were always at least corpses."

  
  


"Yeah, been hearing about all that shit." The woman says, sitting down in front of her fire. "They say it's spirit stuff."

  
  


"It is." Zuko says, still standing. "And we're here to help with it."

  
  


"Good for you, if you can get yourself to believe." she says, and gestures for her kids to come there too. "Do you know anything else about the situation? 'Cos I don't believe in this whole spirit thing, and I don't think you should without proof either."

  
  


"I'm a bit of a connoisseur, my dear." Iroh sits across from her, bowing and smiling. "And my children are both _attuned_ to the spirit world."

  
  


"It's the avatar." Zuko says, getting directly to the point, spitting the name. "He's the one who caused this "spirit thing" to happen." 

  
  


"How do you know that?" her head tilts to the left, disbelieving. She wishes she could be like that. She longs for the chance, to someday be like that.

  
  


"We saw it." Yue says, gently. "He was brutal. He did it willingly, out of spite."

  
  


Those are lies, but nobody's there to keep her from telling them.

  
  


"Yes, indeed." Iroh says. He isn't an obvious liar, either.

  
  


"If you say so." the woman shrugs. “Y’all wanna eat? It's goose-goat, we’d gotten it back in the other town. Fresh kill. ”

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


They spend most of the morning with her and her children. 

  
  


Gang and Hong are sweet kids. That doesn’t mean Zuko likes them, it just means that they’re not horrible company.

  
  


"You don’t need to know, so don’t. Ask.” he pointedly says to Hong, upon being asked where he got his scar. 

  
  


Taking a page off of Uncle's book, he lays down on the sand. Agni’s stare blasts him down, and the more spiritual part of him wonders if he will get skin-sick for sleeping in his light.

  
  


Zuko is so tired. He doesn’t care for what the sages taught him, he’s tired. Eating made him tired. Eating.

  
  


That isn’t how he’s supposed to work. But that isn’t the focus, either, as Hong is still begging him to tell a story.

  
  


"Can you tell me a story?” he asks “You must go all over the place, if what Mr. Guanting said is true, right?”

  
  


"I'll tell you a really cool one after I nap." he tells the boy, and pointedly getting up to do anything and everything that doesn’t include napping.

  
  


"Where are you going?" Hong asks, and starts following Zuko.

  
  


"I'm going to take a nap. And you're staying there." the part about napping is a lie. Zuko is going to find something to do. Or wander about, until he is forever lost. He doesn't really have a plan, but he can't just sleep with Agni staring down at him. Zuko is a horrible firebender, yes, but he is - or was, whatever - one. He was blessed at birth and death alike.

  
  


But as he walks, he is followed. He has long exited the camp, but the small, curious child pursues him nonetheless.

Zuko should probably feel the urge to hurl him against a wall and see if he bounces, but he doesn't.

  
  


"Fine." he says "I'll show you how to hunt, alright?"

  
  


"Did you get the scar hunting?" he asks, gasping "Was it a bear-platypus? Or a platypus-bear?"

  
  


Zuko has no idea what the difference is, but he can't show it.

  
  


"It's none of your business." he says "Now, do you have a knife?"

  
  


"Aww, I forgot to grab one." he says "Can I have yours?"

  
  


"I don't have one either." he says.

  
  


The boy doesn't ask how he plans to hunt without a knife. Thank the spirits he's so stupid.

  
  


"You can watch me hunt, though." he says, more gently this time around.

  
  
  


"With one condition: _stay here_ and _keep quiet_ for a second." he tells the boy.

  
  


Seeing a tree with branches low enough for him to reach, he slowly makes his way up the tree, perching high in perfect silence.

  
  


He's lost too much, but he still has the only good thing about himself. Good.

  
  


"What are you doing?" the boy asks in a whisper "How are you so _silent_?"

  
  


"Shut _up_." he whisper-yells back. 

  
  


He's scanning, now.

  
  


He can see something, below them, hiding behind a shrub, looking at the boy.

  
  


Two of its pairs of paws are low, and its tail is lashing about. He realizes the thing is stalking the boy, and so does he.

  
  


“ _Hey, buddy._ ” Hong says, waving at the animal.

  
  


"Watch out!" he yells, but it's too late.

  
  


The ant-fox pounces. It isn't quite enough to cause much damage, but if its pincers reach Hong’s eyes, they'll have a problem other than a cool-looking scar.

  
  


Zuko jumps off the branch, and lands on top of it, grappling with the animal. Ears low, it hisses at him. Zuko hisses back, and with a measured gesture, he pins it to the ground.

  
  


" _Stop_.” he hisses at it, as it trashes about.

  
  


It goes limp on his grasp, eventually, and only then he lets it out, knowing it will go straight for the woods, where it came from.

“You can’t just pet everything you see.” he says, turning to Hong.

  
  


“I wasn’t gonna. _Gonnasn’t_.” he says.

  
  
  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


"Uh?" Yue asks, upon hearing the request. She had been sat down, quietly appreciating the sun on her, the noises of Iroh and the woman conversing, of Zuko bickering with the kids. Of the _world_.

  
  


"Can I ride your ostrich-horse?" Gang asks, looking anxious but intrigued.

"You shouldn't." She states, calmly. 

  
  


"Should and can are different things." He smiles at her, trying to appear calmer than he is. “Be clearer.”

  
  


"She's mean.” she says “So you can’t.”

  
  


"Fine." He grumbles "But can I feed it?"

  
  


"I don't see why we couldn't, as long as you're careful" she takes his hand, and guides him.

  
  


Yue realizes she _likes_ seeing people smile.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  
  
  


"Well, either way, my fair lady, we must go." Uncle says, getting up and patting the dirt off of his clothes. 

  
  


The sun is setting, now, and Zuko feels antsy. He thinks his body will be tired forever, but his mind won’t. Never will.

  
  


"Wait, sir!" the older boy says. "Mom and I talked about this before, but we- we wanted to help too!"

  
  


"Yeah!” Hong chimes in, from where Zuko had left him with the foal. It liked him quite a lot. Children think alike, afterall. "We wanna rescue people! Like you!"

  
  
  


Yue’s face goes stern, her previous smile fading away, as she stops cleaning the dishes. With a frown and a furrowed brow, she asks:

  
  


“Are you sure? You can still go back, find another home.”

  
  


"We are, lass. It isn't like we have anywhere else to go, or to do." The woman says, giving Yue a light punch to the shoulder.

  
  


"This will be dangerous." Uncle says, suddenly serious.

  
  


The air is no longer filled with fun and laughter, even as the mother nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CRYPTID ZUKO CRYPTID ZUKO CRYPTID ZUKO


	7. the reckless, the wild youth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear to fuck this is so fake woke and angsty and it rly shows that im a fucking teen uh.
> 
> anyways tws theres a corpse on this one. just. wholess head cracked open like an egg  
> also can u smell me tryna give them character arcs
> 
> or does my failure overshadow that

  
  


Not a noise, not a light. It’s all dark and so, so silent.

In any other world, that would mean sleep. But Yue’s mind is in unrest, and she has no spirits to pray to, to beg for the relief from the bone-deep exhaustion, from her spinning head or from her weary, cracked mind.

So she gets up, schools her face, and looks over the camp. The fire burns lazily in front of a sleeping Iroh, and Shun lies curled up with her boys on the other side.

The woman had told them they didn't need anything such as a guard. That shut Yue up, made her think. Think of how alone they are. The world around her is desolate and broken and somehow, as she keeps her eternal vigil, she isn’t alone.

When she gets up, she notices Zuko's eerie yellow eyes, as he watches over them, silently perched atop a tree.

His face looks tired, his frown carved into his face. His eyes a bleary red, surrounded by bags dark enough to look like war paint, as he looks down on her briefly.

"Are you fine?" she notices him, his exhaustion. She is curious. "You look terrible."

"No shit." he grumbles. "I can't sleep, and I’m far too tired to hunt."

"Same thing here." she says, sitting on the roots of the tree, seeing him shift his posture, and feeling his feet swaying right next to her head.

"How long until La reaches ho- the Fire Nation?" he asks. "We don't have time for this."

"Have patience." she says "You may not need it, but other people do need rest."

"I know, I know." he nearly whines "And I never said I didn't need rest. It’s just- It’s taking so long!"

"I used to go on walks when I got too stressed over tribe duties." she confides. It was how she’d met Sokka, how she’d loved him. "Do you want to go on a walk?”

"We’ve spent the entire day doing just that." he says "Aren't you tired of it?"

Even if she doesn't quite want him gone, she'd never said she was the one going on a walk. 

"I am, but I can't sleep either." she shrugs, and lays down on the dirty grass. They've camped out near the woods - that was why Zuko had decided to keep guard, despite Shun saying there was no need for it, that there were no animals out there.

They stand like that, eerie silence filling the air, an eerie, tense stillness overtaking them, despite how she tries to disguise it, entrenched deep in her bones, refusing to leave her alone.

"Do you know why all the people are gone?" he suddenly asks, breaking the silence. "Uncle said he didn't know, but you might."

"I don't know." But she does. She does know. And she doesn't have anything to bargain that knowledge for, and she has no reason to not say it, this time around "But, perhaps, La is harnessing their strength."

"Then" he hops off the branch, graceful in a way he doesn’t look like he should be. "We have to stop him."

"How are we killing him?" she asks.

"I don't know." he stops, sitting right next to her, legs folded neatly under himself. "But the fish - La - was gone from the pond, right?"

For a second, she doesn’t understand. But then-

"Then... it's gone somewhere." she realizes. “It’s in the center of the storm. And we need to find a way to put him down. His death shouldn’t mean the death of the ocean, because the moon isn’t gone, despite Tui dying.”

"Maybe we can convince it- him?" Zuko asks "Angry spirits aren't easily disposed of. And we- we can't just kill him, like they killed the moon."

"The moon isn't gone. Just the moon-mother." she says, as she sits up, untangling knots from her hair. Casual. Distracted. Her head down enough for no one to notice the fear in her eyes.

When she pulls her hand away, a chunk of her hair comes with it, dry and dirty, the stark white of the strands faded.

She thinks about how she was blessed by the now-dead moon-mother, and shivers.

“And he wouldn’t listen to you. Spirits aren’t like that, they don’t think out voices should be heard.”

“The avatar would, though.” he argues. “He’s a pacifist, and a child, and he can be argued with. And he is the reason La was able to get this far.”

Yue sees it. She can see them doing that.

“That is reasonable, yes.” she says. “But how do we know he’s still in there? Your plan won’t work if he’s dead, and he might as well be, if the Ocean is taking more people in, for their strength.”

He groans to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. He can’t hide it. His anger, his fear, his hatred.

“Agni, this is stupid. We can’t kill him - not easily, not now that he’s like that-, and our only hope is to win a debate.”

“A debate against the ocean himself.” she laughs, a fake noise, one that barely feels like it’s coming from her throat.

“Would he even listen?” And Yue suddenly isn’t sure if he’s taking this too seriously or if she is thinking that things are far too funny, far too punchy and simple.

“And what is La going to do? Bring you to the tribe council?” she asks, smiling for a moment, until her words fall upon her ears and she flinches at herself.

Because it-he-sheherself is the reason there is no more tribe council.

“Kill me? And when I come back, kill me again?”

“How does- Oh yeah, the phoenix thing. You can’t die, so you can have more tries at convincing him.” she lays down again, spreading her arms, like a little snow-angel. Trying to force her tense, sore muscles to relax, for a brief second.

“Still, my number of attempts available isn’t infinite.” he lays down beside her, and they both look at the sky. “After a while, he’s going to stop listening to me. And it isn’t like we can just- Just stop him from continuing his rampage.”

The moon stares at them, a taunting white eye in the sky. No matter how much she runs, how far she goes, she’s still there. She’s still laughing. 

“The moon is dead.” she tells herself.

“Uh?” Zuko asks, looking at her. She can feel his stare, as she shifts around, trying to make it so she doesn’t have to see it. Her.

But she won’t do it.

Her frustration will be silent. That subject, that talk, is over. They know what to do. They know how to end the ocean.

(How to make it so that Yue doesn’t have to die for it to happen.)

“Are you sleeping in here?” she asks.

“Not sleeping.” he says. His eyes are still wide open, bloodshot despite their eerie, warm glow.

“Damn spirits.” she says “You still look like a little… Little bag of poop. Little poop boy.”

“You sound delirious.” he tells her. “How long has it been since you slept, again?”

“Shut up, Poop Junior.” She says “Let’s get a walk.”

“Take a walk.” he corrects.

“Get a walk. Now.” she says “The walk is running, and you are going to get her.”

He looks at her with incredible confusion, as she attempts to pull him up. His resistance is futile. She is the tide that breaks even the toughest rock, and she is going somewhere with that analogy, she just doesn’t know where.

All that she knows is that she is taking Poop Junior on a walk.

“I will not baby carry you.” she states, as he finally gives up and stands like a man.

“Then perish.”

“No, thanks.” she grabs his hand and starts dragging him.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks.

“Because you need to sleep.” she says “And tiring yourself out will help.”

She doesn’t know why, nor does she care to know, but she doesn’t have anything better to do. Nothing better to do than giving somebody else a bit of petty care, she argues.

It keeps up the image, and that is the only reason she does it.

“Where are we going?” he asks her.

“I don’t know.” she says “Hopefully, we won’t get lost.”

“Why are you so dumb?” he asks.

“Becaus, as you said, I haven’t slept in a while. A long, long while.” she says, letting his hand go. “And if you do not walk, I will chase you with a stick until you hide under a log and decompose.”

“You’re skipping too many steps.” he says, catching up to her with his cursed leg length, and giving up any pretense of that being a serious moment. It still sounds forced, though. “I’m not just speed-decomposing.”

They walk, closer to the woods. Nothing stares at them from the treeline.

She is talking to the only dangerous creature in that land.

“You don’t die under any normal circumstances.” she realizes. “You could do so much stupid.”

And then, as he ignores her, his eyes widen, and he sniffs the air. It reminds her of a polar-bear do, or perhaps a child doing a poor impression of one.

“Shut up.” he says “I’m hearing something.”

She wants to ask him if he’s hearing with his stupidly flared-up nostrils, but then he crouches down.

His footsteps are eerily silent, as he wades to the direction they’d come from, not looking at her, even as she follows after him, imitating his posture.

“What are you doing?” she asks, crouching down like him, hushed whispers, like she’s taking this seriously.

“Getting you to shut up.” he says, still whispering.

Clutching at her chest, she makes a noise to indicate how very upset she is. It’s not a lot.

“I’m going to cry until you revert into a bird.”

He gets up, and looks at her.

“I can’t revert back into a bird unless I die.” he says, feigning confusion.

“Then I will drown you with my sad, mad tears.” she then remembers what Sokka once told her “My smad tears.”

“You were with the water tribe bastard, weren’t you?” he hisses in frustration.

“Don’t call my hypermasculine baby a bastard, Poop Junior. He’ll be smad.”

“I’m going to show you what smad really means!” he exclaims loudly.

“Is this a challenge?” she can’t take him in a fight, that she knows. But she would be very willing to take him in a fight.

“nO, I’m just saying smad just means upset! Or like. Angry disappointed.”

“Angrappointed.” she pointedly says.

“It’s honorless to challenge you.” he says, dramatically, but she can discern a bit of humor in his voice.

“Oh, it is, indeed, my brave sage.” she says. “Also, wash your hair. It’s becoming an entity of its own.”

He hisses at her.

Yue isn’t afraid, but she isn’t stupid either.

“Goodbye, Sage Crusty.”

Her non-stupidity - some might call it intelligence - is dedicated entirely towards teasing that one particular person.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  


That night, he ignores the onslaught of overwhelming sensations, and curls up in the dirty grass, dry blades poking at his face.

His legs ache, and his arms still feel wrong, and he still feels all too weak and too big, so he turns his back to the fire, and shuts his eyes tight.

A part of him wants to twist and turn until his body feels right again. But it isn’t going to, it isn’t.

So he relaxes his face, forces the tension away from it, and tries to meditate, to imagine there’s something still flowing through his veins.

He opens his eyes. Yue lies across from him, her big eyes closed, her clumped, dry white hair falling on her nose, into her mouth.

“Take a sleep, Crusty Sage.” she doesn’t even open her eyes, just mumbles those words, soft whispers, like she’s afraid of awakening the others.

He wants to roll onto his back, into the fire. A part of him thinks it is the only way he could truly feel warm again.

But he feels tired, indeed. And, despite still wanting to hunt, he just mutters something to Yue, silly, pointless profanities that sound foreign to his own ears.

He wonders what will happen when he dies again.

With that thought, Zuko sleeps.

This time, he doesn’t join the fire.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


“It’s too tight around her beak.” she overhears Zuko say, bossily, as Hong tries to tie a rope around the hen-horse’s beak.

“Can you show me how to do it better?” the boy asks, opening the way. He doesn’t even sound upset about his supposed mistake.

Yue turns back to the baby.

She can’t tie around his neck, can she?

Gang looks at her, and then at them. He had been eavesdropping too, trying to figure out how to do that in a manner that wasn’t eerily reminiscent of a disaster.

“Maybe make it loose around his beak?” he rubs his chin. It’s a habit either taken from his younger brother, or copied by him. She doesn’t remember seeing Shun do it, but it is also a possibility.

“Then it will get lose and run away.” she says, trying not to sound unsure. Uncertainty is stupidity, and stupidity isn’t Yue.

As she proved last night, she is cunning and conniving and sadly hindered by her sleep deprivation.

“Maybe we can carry it?” Gang asks

“The ostrich-horse is bigger than you.” she says. “And at least twice as heavy.”

“Maybe you can carry it?” he suggests instead. “Please?”

She looks down on him, and hopes her face will do the job.

“Don’t look at me like that, young lady.” he says, putting on a deep voice, as if trying to make it so he doesn’t look like the ten year old he is.

“Excuse me?” she snorts.

“If you can’t tie it around his beak, perhaps-” he cuts himself off “you should carry it. You’re a grownup. If mom can carry me, then you can carry him.”

The urge to practice her throwing skills using a conveniently child-sized projectile is nearly irresistible.

“I’m not carrying it.” she says. “Because it’s too big to be conveniently carried by a single person. Especially a girl like me, you see.”

Katara used to say the sexism card was weak. But Katara isn’t there.

“I’ll get another someone to carry it.” Gang says, stubbornly smiling. “And all will be fine.”

“No, no you’re not.” she places a hand on his head, and puts pressure. Like putting a paperweight over some sheets. “We are finding a way to tie it properly, without causing it discomfort and without choking it.”

“Fine.” he grumbles. “You try it first. If it bites you, it’s my- no, your turn again. It was your idea not to carry it.”

She eyes him again.

“I cannot express how infuriating you are, but thanks for admitting I’m right.” she won’t argue with it any further, even though she feels like she has all the spine of a small pastry.

“Then move.” he whispers.

And so she does, with a great deal of reluctance and weariness.

The ostrich-horse looks up at her. Sweet brown eyes, blissfully unthinking, hissing and trying to bite her whenever she tries getting too close to it. Clearly, it had learned from the first time she’d tried to tie it.

“Shh-” she says.

She doesn’t want to have to wrap the rope around its neck. She doesn’t want it to choke.

Dying animals are not a pretty sight, despite how they can occasionally be incredibly annoying.

And, as she dodges another bite, an end of the rope escapes, and goes into the thing’s mouth.

“Nope.” she says, when it grabs onto it, and starts tugging. It’s tail is lashing- no, wagging, as it pulls and digs its heels in.

“No, you’re not doing that-” she says, pulling at her end of the rope. It’s the only thing she can do, play into that wretched beast’s game.

Gang snorts and she resists the urge to scream at him, too focused on the master manipulator bird, who is now having far too much fun.

She can see its sadistic, gleeful little eyes.

She isn’t a master manipulator, she realizes. Not with that (and with children, she bitterly remembers), at least, although she’d like to make an argument that she is quite good at pulling the strings when it comes to adults, who tend to be too tired to pay attention to the holes in her lies.

What matters in the moment, however, is that there is not a single adult there to protect her from the shame and folly of losing a game of tug of war against a small, approximately child-sized, horse.

She is going to die in there, with her heels dug in, still being dragged off balance by the animal.

“Ma’am, I think it’s playing.” Hong tells her, clearly not helping as much as he thinks he is.

“Oh.” she, not a vulgar woman, swears under hear breath, but lets only her first word be heard, before saying: “I wouldn’t have guessed.

She is not a vulgar woman, under normal circumstances. But horse isn’t a normal circumstance.

And, perhaps, a holly fucking motherfucker of a fuckety shit is an appropriate thing to say, at the moment, even if not in front of an eight year old child.

“It likes you!” he announces.

She looks at the creature. It’s eyes aren’t all that unthinking, she realizes, before losing her footing.

“And he won!” Someone else - Hong, she realizes - quips, bursting into the bubble of the social humiliation Yue is currently under.

She spits out a blade of grass, and receives a friendly peck in the head from the walking cut of meat.

For the moment, she refrains herself from telling it that none of its adorable tactics will work on her when she gets hungry.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Zuko asks her, tapping his foot on the grass, repeatedly.

She turns to him.

“Not unless you can rid me of the shame.”

He looks at her, silently, and gets a wistful, odd look on his face.

“The only way for you to redeem yourself…” she can recognize the impression he is making, despite it being incredibly, amazingly, purely putrid, verbally speaking. “Is to redeem yourself.”   
  


“You can’t do an Iroh impression. _Please_ stop.”

And so, she gets up.

The true Iroh ends up being the one to tie the foal. It doesn’t attempt to humiliate him, clearly tired out and satisfied with the results of his evil schemes has taken on her.

Yue resigns herself to a boring walk, as she watches Hong and Gang mount the hen, feeling the familiar pang on her legs. 

She is thirsty. The realization only hits her now. That world is all too warm and too dry and too colorful and-

She wants to go home. Its a sudden thought, a pang of consciousness that is downright bizarre on just how late it is.

But she can’t say much about it. Because it’s a given, it’s something expected. She misses the way the world’s supposed to be.

And so do all those people.

As she walks, she realizes that. 

That she isn’t all alone, for once. That Shun and Iroh and Zuko and the boys, they all need the world how it’s supposed to be.

She isn’t alone. Spirits are no longer her only company.

And that realization, it makes her feel weird and fuzzy and-

“You look like shit.” Zuko suddenly says, from her left. His eyes are still sleepy, still surrounded and all too weary. “Do you want me to get Uncle?”

“I want you to hurl me against a wall.” she tells him, honestly, purely. “If you can’t do that, I don’t want anything.”

That is the moment she remembers Iroh had told them they were important.

That there was a reason they’d stayed behind. Zuko looks at her, and takes a deep, deep breath.

“Find me a wall, and I will turn you into a demolition tool.” he says. “I swear on the fatherlord.”

“Wait.” she stops. “The what?”

They look at eachother, and her life suddenly feels like a walking, talking, punchable punchline.

“The firelord.” he says, slowly, low, his eyes suddenly wide “My father. Did you just not know?”

Yue looks at him, feeling her eyes reach their full size.

And starts laughing. It is a sound filled with pure, putrid panic, like she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

“Please” she giggles desperately, and then turns serious, grabbing his hand, taking it to her chest. Letting him feel the upcoming heart attack “Don’t.”

“I’m not just-” he stops her, taking his hand back and gesticulating wildly “I’m not just _changing_ my _parents_!”

She stops.

“You’re- You’re being _serious_?!”

“wHAT DO YOU THINK I AM? I AM-” And he stops, realizing the situation. More specifically, realizing their audience.

Shun and Hong and Gang are all looking at them.

Iroh stares right through the two of them, the purest expression, the rawest terror, deep on his eyes.

“ _oH_!” she laughs, and hopes her sweat looks natural “Zunior- Juko- Junior Junior - he is _definitively_ named that, by the way - just told a really funny joke! HA!”

Shun gives her a forced smile.

“They got it from their mother.” Iroh quips.

“I am going to beat the shit out of you if you don’t tell me the truth.” she whispers into his ear, the moment the attention shifts away from them.

Zuko’s bad eye looks as wide as a normal eye, and, suddenly, she has a budding feeling that he isn’t telling a lie.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


“This… It’s empty. Again.” Yue mutters, under her breath.

More ruins. This one - it used to be bigger.

Zuko had been to that city once. It was in the Gaoling province, and it was a neutral port. 

It took in Fire Nation people.

If anything, the lack of any corpses is weird. There is no blood. Only mud, littering the streets, tarnishing what would otherwise be an intact visage.

The ghost town says nothing. No prey, no birds, not a single bit of the dead stench.

Were it not for what they knew, they’d think that place - that had-been-was so large compared to the other cities they’d been to - had been deserted for years.

They walk through a few of the paved streets. Artisanal, someday beautiful.

Now all it did was smell like the sea. 

They reach the beach. La doesn’t dare to look at them, doesn’t dare to come back, like a child refusing to acknowledge its mess.

“You know what this means.” Zuko says, shrugging off Uncle’s hand from his shoulder. It is too heavy, too hot, too much. So much for a place that is so empty. “We have to be quick.”

Shun catches up to them, still guiding a reluctant ostrich-hen, and says:

“Hey, buddy, you good-” as she stops, her eyes widen, as if she’s seeing something. Something awful. “Is that- Is that a person over there?”

Far from them, hidden in plain sight, amongst the rocks. As they approach, he realizes that the salt hides the smell of her long-dried blood, even as her face stares up at them, the visitors to that place.

She is a warning, her head of jet-black hair, cracked open against the hot stone. Her eyes wide in a frozen terror were now blind, now free.

Shun turns back, and runs off.

“Kids, we’re going to gather firewood, alright?” she screams, blocking the view from the boys. If they notice how unnatural it seems, they don't say it out loud.

Good. They shouldn’t see that.

They shouldn’t see that once-human, so obscene.

(it makes him hungry)

And the tree of them are left standing, looking at the dead carcass, dressed in red.

Her face is almost recognizable. Almost familiar, to Zuko. 

(Almost _appetizing_ , to a part of him deep down. Because he needs kindling, he needs it, he wants it.)

“She looks like Hanako.” he says, as he drops down to the sand, closing her eyes, gathering up her hair. She is dry enough for a good funeral.

“Who’s that?” Yue asks, but it goes ignored.

“Uncle, Yue, help me carry her.” he says, trying to lift up her shoulders.

But he can’t. His muscles tremble from the effort, and bile presses against his throat, begging to come up, _begging and begging-_

And he lets her down again, and shakes his head.

She isn’t Hanako, but she’s still one of his.

His people. The people he neither can nor will fail again.

“Zuko, breathe.” Uncle says, and he realizes he was locked in place, staring blankly, unblinking, unbreathing. A hand is yet again shrugged off of his shoulder.

He can’t bear to be touched, not right now, maybe not ever.

“Come on, Uncle!” he says. “We have to get her a burial.”

Back at his home, he had been taught and trained by sages. All the royals were supposed to have a good understanding of the spirits, and o f how to appease them.

So, since he was a child, he had been taught what to say, what to do. What honor meant for the dead.

Uncle nods, and Yue, despite the vaguely squeamish look on her face, comes along.

Zuko can only lift the body with their help. He can’t do much on his own, anymore.

Their weeks of starvation have taken away much from them, he realizes. From him.

He is a dying fire.

“How do you bury your dead?” Yue asks, casually, as they carry off that single, red-cloaked body.

“We cremate them.” Uncle says “We say our prayers, to make sure that they will find their way through the labyrinths of the spirit world. We make sure that they are presentable, and we gather up their belongings. Then, when all is ready, we dry them off and, well. You can understand it.”

“Back at home, we’d lay them out to sea. So the Spirits of the Ocean, The Moon, and their children, the Currents, could guide them. That is, well, until-”   
  


“Until.” Uncle says, and shakes his head again. “When we find a way to appease La, his duty will resume. But now, with his anger, letting him be a guide would be disastrous.”

Zuko had somehow expected her to feel angry at that. But she doesn’t, instead just nodding.

“It had felt pointless, back then.” she pants out. “It doesn’t, now.”

They pass the city, reach an area further away from the sea. Grass brushes up against Zuko’s feet, weedy and dirty and overgrown.

Despite the odd looks, Yue does not elaborate further, as they find a nice, secluded place for her.

And so, they lay her down, and dry her off. Her face almost seems peaceful, as Zuko and Uncle do their best to make her presentable.

Tidying clothes, tying back the hair. Making sure her dead-stillness isn’t as noticeable.

But none of the prayers he says make that feel like it’s enough.

The words are spoken in high fire nation - it’s all but unrecognizable from the common language of the people now, but Zuko knows the words down to his core, like the palms of his clammy, dirty hands.

He reaches inside him, as he and Uncle kneel in front of her. He wants kindling.

But he has so little left to burn. His paths feel blocked, and he feels so, so unbearably weak, as he reaches deep down, tells his hands to settle into form, breathes in deep.

In. Out. 

The fire comes, a weak stream of smoke, escaping from his clenched hands, barely throwing sparks.

It is disloyal, but he keeps his eyes closed, as he touches his dry, dry, cold hands to her, and tries again.

This time, it - she - is set ablaze.

They’d mopped away the traces of the ocean’s impurity. Well enough for the fire to accept her, for her to become the fuel, the breath of the trees, the ashes that feed the crops.

They let Yue watch,a s they put out the fire. 

Uncle’s graceful control has left the grass unburnt, the world untarnished by the funeral they’d just held. Almost as it was meant to be.

But never enough to make it feel fair.

All that is left is a pile of ashes. That fire was quick, swift, and so hot it was blue around the edges.

He ignores the bits of other colors, that danced around his vision. The green and the purple, the pure, flowery pigments that he chalks up to his imaginative grief.

It would be disrespectful, to let his shoulders sag like Uncle’s do, as they finally stand up.

He no longer schools away the frown, for the woods are singing again and the world is back to where it used to be and all the spirits that must have been watching are gone.

He turns back, faces Yue. There is nothing that matters as much as the simple fact that he has failed his nation and the nation that isn’t his alike.

He knows that she, that Not-Hanako, will not be the last one. They all do.

He knows that. And the bitterness of his failure makes him want to cry.

“Uncle?” he asks, biting his tongue, and hoping they all ignore the crack on his voice.

_ (He couldn’t cry, when he started seeing the fleets of his nation, all dead and gone and bloody and broken laying on the ice and floating on the sea like it was peace like-) _

“Zuko?” he asks, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He no longer shrugs it off, just looks at the man - the man that had done so, _so much_ for him, he realizes- and says:

“Can I get a haircut?” he says “I don’t have a reason to wear the phoenix plume anymore.”

He ignores Yue’s look, the ironic twist of her eyebrows, the question she’s biting back and chewing down. Let her swallow her words.

“Are you sure?” Uncle asks, but still guides him down, back to the waters. The path blends together on his mind. A part of him wonders if they will find anything else. Any more warnings, any more burials.

They aren’t quite running, but he doesn’t need them to run clear. This isn’t a time for peace and for beauty, this isn’t a spirit tale.

This is him, kneeling in front of the waters.

This is him, staring blankly at the brown reflection of his face, at the starved, sad creature that looks back at him.

He doesn’t quite look like himself, he doesn’t feel like himself. He feels gaunt and wrong and he can’t look away.

He listens, tuned-out and barely making sense of the words, as Yue says that she’ll find Shun and grab a blade, so they can cut his hair. It all feels too silent, and too loud.

He doesn’t look like himself, and he doesn’t feel like himself.  So, he closes his eyes, lets the warm hands run through his scalp, shave away the person he used to be.

Black strands fall down, and he imagines them in the water, spreading out like catopus ink.

He gets up, and doesn’t look at the person-that-isn’t-him again, and ignores the look on Uncle’s eyes, b ecause he doesn’t want to think about why it looks like pride.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls give me criticism and attention  
> if you do not i will throw a tantrum ok


	8. Before our moment's glory, the light begins to fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS EIGHT FUCKING THOUSAND GODDAMN FUCKING DUCKINGDAMNIT WORDS
> 
> anyways trigger warnings: violence??? im p sure zuko munches on some raw meat and contemplates cannibalism but other than that its p chill
> 
> according to my beta reader (i love her so much yall have no idea i love that woman) im too powerful now so
> 
> you should probably run

Their days fade into night, uncaring at the fruitlessness of their search.

The night fades into day, Agni’s eye staring them down for hours on end.

Does he, too, hope for someone? Is he surprised, at the lack of anything, of anyone? At the empty streets, littered with not a living thing?

Nobody, nothing. 

“What is choice, when all the roads lead nowhere?” Yue mutters to herself.

And he knows he shouldn’t be surprised, he knows that the spirit’s anger is taking everyone, everything. Stealing them away, gnawing on them until there is nothing left but bone.

So, Zuko looks. No longer for people - as much as that hurts, there is no one, there is nothing - but for a boat. Because the ocean is calm, La’s passed, and there is nothing waiting for them that they won’t be able to bargain with.

There is nothing, nothing but the meat in front of him, the enticing smell leading from a butcher’s shop. The smell that overtakes his senses, that distracts him from the everlasting search.

The kitchen of the place is washed, but the knives and cutting boards and hung cuts are still there. Like there was not a second for organization, not a moment to think, before it was all gone.

Despite how morbid it all seems, it’s so appetizing to Zuko. Despite the smell of something that will go rancid soon, the colors and sizes and shapes nearly stun him. 

And so, he ignores the urge, the craving, and slips whatever he can into the satchel he was given. They are gathering supplies, for their next bout of running.

“Zuko, what are you doing?” Uncle asks, from outside the shop’s window, his head tilted, his words not registering fully on Zuko’s ears.

He picks up a small drumstick. With a mindless hunger, he gnaws on it, the gamey taste barely registering.

“There’s a lot of meat, but no rice-peas or flour. Check about those with Yue.” he says, pointing to the kitchen behind him. “You should come here and pack some more.”

Some of it smells rotten. But a part of him, it thinks that it isn’t disgusting. That it isn’t something to be gawked at, that it’s natural and good and-

And he ignores it. That would be concerning, and he can’t sneak it back, someone else might eat it and get sick.

It feels satiating. It feels good to be hungry again.

And the way he’s acting - he feels like he’s out of his mind, like his brain’s rotting - doesn’t matter. Because they have a goal. They talked about it earlier, even if Shun isn’t convinced.

Mothers tend to worry a lot. He misses his mother. He wonders if she still worries about him.

“Junior, you good?” Shun asks, coming into the shop. “Woah, you really struck gold, eh?”

“No.” he states. “We struck meat.”

She lets out a hearty laugh. It doesn’t sound very forced.

“Good thing either way, buddy.” she tells him, with a pat to the back. “I dunno what would’ve happened if we just looked for the boat on the docks.”

“Do you think we can cure some of the meat?” he asks, when she settles beside him, also packing up as much as they can handle.

“Could do, could do.” she says, as they fade into silence. Cured meat isn’t something he was used to, but Yue ought to know how to make it.

She hums to herself.

When she turns back, he takes another bite off of what was in his hands.

Nobody has to deal with it if nobody knows.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


They are walking again.

The world drifts past them quietly. All the words said buzz past her ears, yet her mind is still bored. Somehow, a part of her keeps up the paranoia, the sensation that they will find someone.

That there will be another burial.

She wants to close her eyes, shut her ears, vanish from the world. But she was never able to do that, and that surely won’t change now.

“Zunior?” she asks, and he looks at her.

Golden eyes, brimming and shining with nothing but a deep-set exhaustion, one that no sleep takes away, that no food replenishes, and that no comfort or company dislodges.

“Uh?” he asks. “What do you want, this time?”

“Oh.” she realizes she has nothing to say, and looks forward. The ostrich-horses walk merrily to the front of the group, now carrying a half-asleep Iroh.

The sun has just fallen down. Firebenders tend to live around the sun, she remembers. She had once thought that it was merely a cultural concept, but, she had soon noticed, that was anything but the case.

Back in the raft, she and Iroh weren’t awake at the same time on plenty of days

She wonders if Zuko was once able to fall asleep like that, with such ease, almost as if commanded by the star.

“Yue, what do you want?” he asks, but they both already know.

“An explanation for what you’d said earlier.” she whispers, letting them fall further behind, letting the way Iroh and Shun talk, loud and obnoxious, wash over them, muffle away what they say.

“Did Uncle never tell you about our family?” he asks, after a minute of silence. “I don’t remember if he did. But I’m not lying.”

She looks at him, disbelief stretched out over her face. For no sane man would expect belief for a lie such as that. 

Is he deluded, she wonders, hoping for something that can be easily explained away. She hadn’t had the chance to know much about phoenixes, but it was believed that their looping of lives and deaths could drive them insane.

And he’d been dying at an awful frequency lately.

“I am Prince Zuko, son of Fire Lord Ozai and Princess Ursa.” he says, his whispers holding power, belief.

Just like a deluded man stating what, to him, is a fact.

“I- How did you end up out of the Fire Nation?”

“They banished me.” he says. She can’t see his scar from that side, almost like he’s hiding it.

But she can still imagine it. The way it pulls, the way it looks like melted wax, covering the left side of his face, pulling with his grimaces and frowns in a way that seemed painful to even her.

And she doesn’t know what to do.

There’s no comfort in her mind, and there’s no confrontation brewing inside her.

“The anniversary of my banishment was a couple days ago.” he says, the message implicit.

“I miss my home too.” she almost touches him, but doesn’t miss the flinch when she approaches. So, she drops her hand.

She had never liked to be held either.

“It’s not the same.” he says, looking up into the horizon. “You don’t have a chance of going back.”

Orange fades into a bruised purple, the eye of Agni closing to their world.

“I don’t know how you feel.” she confides, honest words slipping off her tongue. “But if you have a chance-”  
  


“I need the avatar for it.” he tells her.

The avatar, the boy in the ocean.

The boy she once knew. He was a ray of sunshine, bright and quirky and otherworldly, so unlike anyone she’d ever met.

His voice was airy and his movements so light that when he touched her shoulder he barely felt like he was there.

They’d never gotten to be friends.

“Then do what you must.” she says “When we find him, you can take him. It wouldn’t make sense for the fire nation to kill him. Not right now.”

“I know that.” he says “And he- he’s a murderer. He killed both our people.”

She remembers corpses littering the streets. Open eyes staring straight through her.

Saltwater in wounds, saltwater stained.

A part of her remembers he was a pacifist.

Was.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


Uncle turns onto his back. Loud snores, breaking through the silence of the night.

The boys fought earlier that day, so now each one of them sleeps on one of Shun’s sides. She was the first one of them to drift off, which meant that he’d heard the boys, bickering over whatever.

Zuko has no roofs to climb, no places to run, no places to hide.

His heavy eyes refuse to shut, and his mind refuses to stop thinking, to rest for even a minute. 

He’s been growing used to it, despite how unpleasant it is. So, he gets up, knowing that someone else has a tendency to stay awake.

From across the camp, she stares at him, blue eyes no longer lit with that unnatural, spiritual glow that they’d held before the Seige. Nothing that would say the ruffled, stressed girl has anything special about her.

“Again?” Yue asks. 

“Yeah.” he mutters, standing in an awkward silence, his idea spinning in his mind as he wrings his fingers. “Do you know how to hunt?”

She stares in silence.

“No, you don’t.” he decides, and goes back to the fire, to grab a knife from Uncle’s things. “Come on, get up.”

“Oh noooo, shall this be my great, miserable end?” she jokes, but doesn’t get up.

“Stop being stupid.” he says, because she is An Unfunny, Not Funny, Funnyless bastard. “I’m going to teach you how to hunt, so get up.”

“How?” she asks, but he thinks she knows.

Zuko takes the knife, and looks upon its blade. Not an engraved word or symbol. Not his knife, the one he’d carried along with him for so long. 

Does it see the exhaustion on his face? Does it see how close he is to his snapping point? Does it see the dishonor cast upon him?

He cannot answer his own questions, and neither can the blade, so he chucks it at Yue at a violent speed.

“Sorry.” he says, when it hits her head. It had not been his intention, but he should get to running off nonetheless.

“OW!” she screams.

“Hunt me down.” he tells her, and then remembers what she did to that woman the night they’d stolen the ostrich-horses “Just don’t actually stab me.”

And, as Yue picks up the knife, a confused look giving her eerie doll-like face life, he bolts for his life.

It is thrilling, his aching legs giving way as he sprints away silently. He knows he isn’t as fast as he should be, but he makes himself slower nonetheless. It’s a game.

He misses being himself, but this is a good game. This is fun, he thinks, while winding his way through the town’s countless streets and alleyways.

He doesn’t know why the concept of the hunt brings him such joy, but he finds a smile on his face, as he waits up for her at the corners.

The not-predator is behind him, as an animalistic part of him wants to take flight, to hide in some way.

But no, he doesn’t hide. This isn’t the kind of game where you hide.

He sneaks through city streets and broken remains of houses, jumps over rubble, tiptoes over puddles.

She is silent, persistently chasing.

That will tire them both out, he figures.

“Holly- Holly spirits!” she pants out, closing in. “Just wait a minute, I’m not actually stabbing you!”

He is silent, unused to not being the one hunting. His predator won’t get near, won’t catch him. Her taunts only make the run more fun, though.

The closer she gets, the more he runs, cloaked in shadow, rarely looking behind him.

Houses give way to ruins, puddles turning into tiny, winding rivers, mud in the moonlight. The impact left rubble and collapsed roofs and all these beautiful, incredible hideouts.

The morbidity no longer registers on his brain, as he tries to get further from the open areas - from the sea.

Yes, yes.

He jumps from the remains of a wall, wondering if that’s what flight feels like.

The thrill numbs the pain from the impact, even as he loses his footing, scraping his knees.

No, no, he thinks.

His silent agility gives way to something more primal, something that feels wrong and right at the same time.

It all feels too bright, so he hides in the shadows of an alleyway.

That’s his mistake. It’s a dead end. All that faces him is a wall, and a single house - clothes still hanging from the windows, rustling with the breeze like leaves - is all that separates him from whoever is pursuing him.

So, he does what he can, and climbs.

Windowsill, piece of the wall. Its texture is uneven enough, stony enough for even his wrong-feeling feet to find themselves footing, as he drags himself up, his hands scraping against the stone.

With a whine, he hears someone catch up to him, panting rapidly. When he cowers, Zuko nearly falls down.

And suddenly, he realizes.

It’s just Yue. There is no danger.

His hands are scraped to the highs of Koh’s lair, as he falls back.

She pants, and falls to the floor. He leaps beside her, but it no longer feels natural to his body.

He realizes how weird his sudden awareness of how human he feels is, but it’s far too late.

“Who trained you?” she asks. “And you seemed kind of crazy, were you okay?"

“I don’t. I don’t know.” he pants out. “But I trained under Master Piandao, son of-”

“Do you memorize everyone’s bloodline?”

“Don’t you?” it’s a lie, he doesn’t usually do that, of course, but nonetheless-

“Of course.” she swipes dramatically. “Next question, or I’ll actually stab you.”

“We need a boat.” he says, as his breath control returns. "Not a question. We didn't find anything today, but we have to get one until next morning."

“We do?” She sits down, looking up at him.

“We aren’t fast enough to hunt down the storm, Yue.” he sits down beside her, shivering at the cold of the dirt.

“It’s true.” she admits “And he's already passed this place. The question is if there is anything intact on here.”

“We can look.” he says “If there was meat left behind, then there ought to be a boat.”

She doesn’t have much hope, but she has to do something. Inaction isn’t right, this time around.

  
  
  


-

  
  


“And…” Iroh starts, one eyebrow lifted so high it looks cartoonish “Where did you find the boat?”  
  


“Didn’t you say it was dangerous to sail it while the pissed off fish is pissed off?” Shun eloquently adds.

“No- No, stop.” Zuko pinches his nose bridge “What the- Fist, one doesn’t call the ocean spirit a pissed off fish, even though he is- And second, he’s already passed through here. And there’s no way we’ll reach him by foot.”

“I mean, yeah. That makes sense.” Hong says. Zuko is glad the boy has some common sense.

“Still.” Gang breathes and rubs his chin. “That- That’s really small, for all of us.”

He is right, of course.  
  


“Especially if we’re bringing the ostrich-horses along.”

It is a problem, but not one they don’t have a solution for. That was not only the biggest boat they found, but the biggest that she and Zuko could bring back to the camp.

“It will fit everyone.” Zuko says. “It looks small, but there’s space under the deck.”

“We’re going to sleep inside or outside the boat?” another good question, from the one and only Gang, the sensible little man.  
  


“We already sleep outside. We can afford to keep doing it.”

Yue wants to point out that she could afford stopping that, and that they could just put down the ostrich-horses. More meat to be cured.

But, when she looks at the hen, preening her young, cawing and clicking happily, unaware of what the others think, a part of her can almost understand where Zuko comes from, wanting to keep them alive.

They’d talked everything out the last night, as they dragged the boat back to the camp, so near the shore, so near the spirits.

(“It’s a really small one.” she remarks.

“Smaller than the Wani.” she heard him grumble. “Thankfully lighter, too.”)

They had not found it at the docks. Instead, it was behind some sort of building, blissfully intact from whatever impact had broken the walls.

Convenient. In a way, almost artificial.

It feels weird, but she won’t mind it. She won’t mind something convenient, for once.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


“Hey, lil’ lady.” Shun asks “Why is your brother perched on the mast?”

Zuko caws indignantly from his perch, but it comes off as more of a groan. He had felt tired, still sleepless despite last night’s adventure, and the sun had felt nice, so he got closer to the warmth.

Like a moth to the flame. Closer and closer, until it is burned out of mercy.

The world shines too much, so he shuts his eyes, and lets the light beam down on him, lets the sea hum its peaceful song, lets the seagull pass by.

He doesn’t quite sleep. 

Not while the sea rocks around them, not while he feels an odd presence. Not like what he had felt during the siege. Something milder, albeit not any less dangerous.

Not while he is questioned, every few minutes. Not while everyone panics at any sign that disaster might strike.

He was too tired to scream at them, to tell them off for their foolishness.

He wishes that this felt like the Wani. Like his nest of three years, where he never felt unsteady, where the sea’s hands were never his biggest concern.

His goal never changes. All that ever managed to change was the things he had to help him accomplish it.

“JUNIOR!” Yue yells, like the mast is high up enough for it to be necessary in order to do anything but destroy his poor eardrums. The scream dislodges him from his place, nearly makes him fall down. “COME DOWN HERE, IDIOT!”

“Shut up.” he growls, and tries to adjust back, to find the comfortable spot that muffled the pain. 

The anniversary passed cleanly. How many years would he have to live through? Would his quest last forever?

Would he fail again?

“Come down here.” she says, now at a normal volume. “Or I will start actually screaming.”  
  


“GREAT NEWS!” he screeches, his temper lost, his eyes still closed, as if there was any hope that he could go back to a nice, drowsy state. “YOU’RE ALREADY SCREAMING!”

“Z- Junior.” Uncle asks. “Please come down, it’s something important.”

That calms him down. Makes him think.

“What is it?” he asks. “And sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Because he was not a prince there, and he had no reason to act like a brat. Not anymore.

Jumping, he tries to ignore the brief period of blindness, the aching vertigo as he lands.

A part of him wonders if he could fly away, far away, down there, where nobody would bother him, and where he would bother nobody.

But he lands before he can truly want anything.

“What do you want?” he asks, feeling dizzy, still on the wooden floor. If he were to get up, he knew his legs would give out.

“To know what we’ll eat today, of course.” Uncle smiles, and he can barely make it out, and his legs feel like giving out, so he sits down on the tiny deck. “Son, are you okay?”

It’s funny, how the words slip off his lips like they’re easy, like they’re real.

Like he thinks of Zuko like that. Like anyone could think about him like that, like he was anything but a failure, a sorry excuse for something that isn’t even really human.

“I don’t need to pick.” he says. “I’ll eat whatever, and it isn’t like we can choose either way.”

“We can, though.” Shun says, brushing back her hair. “Are you okay, Junior?”

“Don’t worry about me.” he grumbles. Junior isn’t his name, but he just got up and he hasn’t felt awake enough that day to properly scream her junior-s away.

“I’m not going to stop worrying just ‘cause you look like poop all the time.” she comes closer, her smile blinding and so bizarre in its honesty. “Now come on, it’s your turn to pick. You did your chores yesterday, so don’t be scared of asking for a treat.”

He feels a hand tugging at his arm, and, when he looks, still seated, Hong smiles up at him. People are so blinding, he vaguely thinks, seeing his gap-toothed grin.

“I want dumplings. Please?” he says. “Can you ask for it? Pretty please?”

The idea doesn’t sound too appetizing, so he smiles at the boy, awkwardly giving him a thumbs up, and then hiding it. They both know he pinned the dish-drying duty on Zuko yesterday.

“H- I want some dumplings, if we can make it.” he says, going on front of the child. “Please.”

“That sounds good.” Shun smiles. “What are you hiding, by the way?”

Hong whines. Zuko pokes him, a shut-up on his lips.

“Dumpling cravings.” he says. “That’s my stomach.”  
  


Gang comes closer and peeks out behind him, and he sweats a bit.

“I didn’t know Hong was your digestive system.” he says, smiling. “You must be really hungry, all the time.

“Gang, I was just behind him.” Hong says, coming out from behind the nearly-dead-from-anxiety-and-shame Zuko. “It isn’t like we can’t be near each other, this isn’t a big boat. He wanted the dumplings, I was just standing close to him.”

“Sure, sure. You will clean the dishes today, though.” he says, pinching his brother’s cheek. “Mom, do we have flour?”

“I found a sack that wasn’t fully f-screwed up from the storm.” she says. “So, if you boys help me knead, we can have dumplings for lunch. Do you want them fried or boiled?”

“Hong, do you want them fried or boiled?” Zuko asks, without even realizing.

Their looks spell that they know of his sins. All of them. 

“Fried!” He happily says, and then whispers to Zuko, up close. “If you rat me out, I’m gonna rat you. You’ll be ratted to your core.”

“You’re welcome.” he says, and lifts the boy up by his armpits. He is taking the child back to the child store, and he’s getting his refunds.

Nearly falling, he makes a trek that seems dangerous, with the amount of scattered belongings and stray Yue’s, despite its short length. The boy doesn’t help it, being distraught in his grasp, turning and whining and trying to kick Zuko’s kidneys.

“Here’s your rat.” he says, handing the child gently to Shun.

“Thannks.” she says, accepting the small boy like he is a very unwanted gift. 

“Mom, he called me a rat!”

“Yes I did.” Zuko says, like the mean, mean man he is. “What are you doing about it? Dumplings?”

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


The days pass. They go through towns, but find nothing else.

The fast pace is relieving, it is nice to Yue, even if their stops slow it down.

They all know that they won’t find anyone. But it’s a habit, and a precaution, and everything in between.

She still has nightmares about the raft, she still has nightmares about what was before the raft. Every night, sometimes more than once. It makes her want to stop sleeping, to do something, anything else.

Yue is sure that there is something. Something taunting them.

She can see it glowing in the water. Bright, deep down, leading them, accompanying them. Keeping them in its horrible company.

There’s nothing to be found or done, in the ship. Nothing but to go through the steps of the routine, to watch the thing taunt them whenever she wakes up.

To feed and eat and clean and sleep and wait for whatever is waiting to strike.

But when she wakes up, the fact that Zuko is no longer just a bird, that there are no ships wrecked and strung about, no corpses staring at her, no angry waves, no nothing, it helps her see what is and isn’t real.

She finds solace in the fact that she doesn’t awaken alone every night. She always has company, in one way or another.

“Princess Yue, are you okay?” Iroh asks her, when she jolts up one night, breathing heavy and fast and swearing she can almost see the eyes of the sea all around them.

She knows that there is something watching them. She thinks Iroh knows, too.

Because there is no way that man, so wise and confident and trusting (even in someone like her, she realizes) doesn’t see that La’s children are still out there. That they are the currents guiding them.

Temporary allies. For how long will their truce last?

“We have to get to shore.” she says. “Now.”

“Would you like some tea?” he asks, instead. There is a look of worry on his face. He sees how close she is to panic, she realizes. “I can brew it, now. You got me those leaves, remember?”

An unnaturally calm, calloused hand is placed on her shoulder. She shrinks into it, she lets it stay. Trust. It passes through, and for once, she doesn’t mind that it shows.

She isn’t there enough to be aware.

“He- He’s going to find us, Iroh. You know that they’re watching us-” she whispers, looking around. Paranoia swirls inside her, pulses within, pulls at her face, twists it into a grimace. “We’re going to die if we don’t reach shore, we’re going to die-”

“Breathe. In. Out. Come on, along with me.” he instructs, patient, soft. “A man without control is but a beast, my friend.”

She follows. The gestures leave her impatient, but she follows.

Because whether or not she wants to admit, it helps, that she isn’t gasping for air, that she isn’t dying-living.

“He’s already passed through this place.” he reasons “You may let your dreams guide you, but be cautious of the nightmares. The currents are our allies. Not all of the world resents, right now.”

“But-” she whispers “What if he thinks to come back?”

“He won’t, until he reaches his goal. He won’t, until we reach him. We can’t go back to the shore, not until we reach the eye of La’s storm. It would be senseless, now, to go off course and let him destroy the fire nation.”

“It makes sense.” she says. In, out. Meditating.

“Now, would you like some tea?” he asks. “To lull us back down, wash away the unpleasantries.”

With deep breaths, she lets the subject be diverged.

“Do you still have ginger?”

“I do. You like your tea sweet, don’t you?”

She is relieved to not no longer have to talk about it. For it to not bother her, for a brief moment.

Her hands long for the warmth of a teacup, for the calming smell, for the ritualistic talking over an imaginary Pai Sho table.

Master Pakku used to play Pai Sho with his friends and her father, some nights. 

She wonders where they are. She wonders if she’ll ever have a chance to see them again.

“Can you put in extra sugar?” she asks, trying not to let her grief show through.

“Are you sure?” Iroh asks. “A tea is best enjoyed in its natural state.”

“Stop being such a purist.” she smiles. “Just put in a bit extra, Shun won’t notice it missing from the stack.”

“Fine, fine, you got me.” he says, as he heats up the kettle.

The sheer control of his firebending always impresses her.

There’s something about it, about the way it never burns beside what it needs to.

“Do you ever wish you had another kind of bending?” she asks. The question slips off naturally, aimlessly. Simple curiosity, true and genuine.

“I learned how to embrace my flame long ago.” Iroh says. “It took time for me to stop thinking it was meant to do nothing other than just destroy.”

She doesn’t understand. It shows in her eyes.

“Fire is life, Yue.” he says, handing her a mug. “It’s the heat that pulses within us, it’s the flame that cooks our food and keeps us warm. It’s everything, and it’s everywhere.”

And, for a second, she remembered the flame, a couple days ago. The way otherworldly colors flickered around its edges.

“We are more than kindling.” he says. “We must understand that, and care for ourselves, so our fire may warm others.”

“But feeding the flame too much might bring disastrous consequences upon us. Fire warms, and fire consumes.”

“The answer is balance.”

“But how do we find it?”

“We learn from others, from their good and their bad.” he says, and taps his own head. “And we think.”

“And how do we know that what we are thinking is right?” she asks, looking up at the stars.

Tui’s blind eye stares down on her, withered and gray.

Yue can’t shake off the fact that it burns a little brighter every night.

“We see the consequences of our actions. We repent for them.” he says, with a brief break, a sip of his own tea. “And we ask for forgiveness.”

“How do we do that, though?” she drinks too. It, as always, is perfect. Warm and spicy and sweet. A treat, something she can hang onto when it all gets too bad.

“We must let go of our pride, on certain occasions.” he tells her. “It’s hard to understand that nobody owes us their forgiveness, that we have to repent either way.”  
  


“It’s hard.” she admits. “It’s hard, but I’m trying.”

She swallows down something in her throat.

“That’s the first step. I’m glad you’re here, and I hope you know that you can talk to people.”

She doesn’t truly believe that. She doesn’t truly believe that she can trust.

But she does it anyways, she realizes.

And that terrifies her.

  
  
  


-

  
  


A shipwreck.

Wooden like theirs. They were guided to it, the currents guiding them with its eerie light. 

They had just had dinner. Warm tea was on schedule, right before they were supposed to go to bed. Their unannounced curfew, their only constant, that unchanging schedule.

“Not rotten enough to have been here for long, though.” Uncles scratches at his now-unruly beard. “Maybe there is something inside.”

“Maybe there’s someone inside.” Zuko says, and, before anyone can respond, call him out on his idiocracy, dives.

He will find his way.

And this time, he won’t sink.

The sea is dark. Cold. Opressive. But there is something in there, an allure, something unnatural. Something beckoning him.

Closer, closer, little ash, it calls him. Closer, closer. Won’t you come closer to me?

The husk has openings, convenient enough for somebody as thin as him to fit through. Almost- 

Almost manmade.

Won’t you come closer to us?

He is glad his hair isn’t in the way anymore, as he drifts, his heartbeat going quicker and quicker the longer he has to go by without any air.

He doesn’t have time to ponder his decision. It calls him.

It’s all an unnatural blue. The bubbles, the fish that settle in.

Were his mouth not filled with air, he is sure he would bite in, whenever one of them taunts him, swimming so close, so out of reach. They are prey, they are giving themselves to him.

But he knows.

He knows there must be something in there. Because they are running out of supplies. They eat away at what little they have, day after day.

They need something.

They need something, and he is the only one disposable. The only one who can do this without any true risk.

But he can’t fail either way. Failure-

Failure would mean loss. Loss of everything.

It would mean watching them wither and die off, slowly, steadily.

It would mean the wasting away of everyone he holds dear.

It would mean never being hunted down, never drinking too-bitter or too-sweet tea, never being again.

It would mean never listening to obnoxious proverbs, never eating jook with near-burnt banana-onions, never holding flexibility competitions with the kids again.

So he searches.

He doesn’t let himself get lost in his thoughts, and he searches.

There are bits of food, in the oddest of places. He takes it in, greedily drinking in whatever gifts he can find.

There are breaths of air, moments where he manages to find the surface again. Little gifts, to which he is led by those odd, shiny fish.

He has a need, a need to bite into them, to devour each one. They are taunting him.

Yes, that place taunts him, he realizes.

He is in the claws of something. Grasped between that current’s grubby hands, like all those bodies.

He surfaces into the cabin, eventually. A place silent, but not overfilled with water.

Instead, that places holds the bodies. 

Two of them. Faded, green uniforms. There is no despair in their faces.

There is no sign of decay. Something tells him that they’re at peace.

A part of him thinks that, if he were to touch them, they’d still be warm.

The current is silent. Too silent.

There are no fish. There is nothing to watch him, there is nothing. He could butcher them.

He should butcher them. He is sure they wouldn’t mind.

(Who?)

But that isn’t what he went there for. What did he go there for, again?

Perhaps those scrolls? Those are enticing. He has the feeling that the water won’t make them bleed.

They beckon him. Entertainment, knowledge.

He isn’t sure what he went there for, but that must do something. Maybe they will teach him something.

Maybe he should stay there, verify them.

But no, he has to go back. He shakes his head, tries to snap off the stupor. Something isn’t right. Something isn’t right.

All is fine, something tells him.

He can find food later. Right now, he is slipping, opening the cabinet.

There is something in there.

The kids had been bored lately. And so had he, when he couldn’t hunt, when he could hardly sleep, despite how hard he tried.

His legs flap aimlessly about, but he doesn’t realize how heavy they feel, as he slips away a few scrolls. Those ought to keep them entertained. Those ought to be a gift.

And a part of him remembers, suddenly.

That there was something on the sea.

Something that wasn’t La.

Something in the currents.

Something that shone in the night. Something that even he could see.

And he realizes, as he feels the pressure growing stronger around him, that he shouldn't have gone out at night. That there was a reason he jumped.

That this wasn’t natural.

But he swims back down, holding his breath and blinking away tears at the sheer salinity of the water. 

That superstitious part of him, it wants to justify why it’s harder than before, why his legs lag and his arms feel numb. 

Why holding his breath is so hard.

But he has to shun it, he has to shut it down. It can’t afford to stay, it can’t afford to remain there.

He can’t afford to let himself be lost. And so, he swims.

The pressure is overbearing on its own right.

The rooms are all empty, now. He doesn’t look in them anymore, but he knows.

The world breathes around him, taunting.

Telling him that he can’t.

Blue fish - were they that blue before? - stare at him, swimming right past his reach, right past the point where he could’ve bitten down on them.

A part of Zuko swears that their eyes are too human.

Their white scleras, their bizarre shapes.

The eyelashes.

Almost imperceptible, as they stare right at him.

He has the budding feeling that there is something unnatural, right below the surface.

Right out of his reach. Right out of what his mind can understand, taunting him.

So, he forces willpower back in, his heart hammering with the lack of air, his lungs clamoring for something, anything.

The wood seems to decay all around him, as he makes his way through hallways just unfamiliar enough to make him feel lost.

He remembers his first days on the Wani. At least he could breathe back then, even through the lack of any depth perception. Even through at the panic he was sent into by every sign of a flame.

Agni, his head is heavy. But Agni isn’t there to hear him.

He was sure the ship wasn’t this decomposed, this overtaken by the corals and the fish.

He begs for that room to be the kitchen. To be his only hope of finding something that will have use. Because he remembers, now, that they needed food. They needed food. And he doesn’t know anymore, he can’t rationalize what made him jump.

The sea grows louder around him. Whispering turns into yelling.

No, not the sea.

The thing.

A conglomerate of fish, at the first sight. The smiling school, surrounding him completely.

Smiling through lips that look oddly human.

And the cacophony- it’s in his head.

He can’t breathe, and they scream. Ashmaker, Sootbringer.

The yelling wasn’t there before. He could swear to it.

They swim all around him. Ashmaker, Sootbringer, won’t you breathe for me? 

And it’s all so incredibly loud, as his heart hammers on his chest.

Ashmaker, Sootbringer. Won’t you pay for your gift?

He breathes, not even realizing he does it.

The school smiles.

And he realizes too late what their silence means.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Iroh paces about, rubbing at his sleeves. Yue can see it, the pure anxiety, the angustiated look on his face.

She feels it too.

Zuko had just… Jumped. So suddenly.

Like he was entranced. He seemed out of his mind, as he sank and sank and sank.

And he isn’t resurfacing. He’s just down there, somewhere, in that ship, and none of them can muster up the courage to jump after him.

And that is terrifying to her.

She has this horrible feeling, clogging her throat and making her want to whine and run like an animal. Making her want to jump.

Making her want to sink. Making her think that maybe, just maybe, there is comfort down there.

Yue doesn’t let it show. Porcelain face, eerily still. So tense that one would think she is a doll. If she relaxes, she will lose herself.

The longer Zuko is gone, the more she fears. The more she knows.

There is something down there.

And whatever it is, it’s taken enough from him. And she nearly cries out, when she sees him again, resurfacing quickly, half-drowned, gasping for air.

His feathers are bathed by the moonlight. His wings spread out, as he drifts, unconscious. 

His brown feathers look silver. 

A pair of scrolls surfaces along with him. They’re completely dry, untouched by the water.

Iroh nearly falls, as he tries to reach over, grab the bird. No, the boy.

  
  


He catches his nephew, pulls him close. Cradles him.

“Z-Junior?” he asks. Yue can’t catch any movement from the bird.

Maybe he died again.

Maybe he was going to burn Iroh, when he next combusted.

She knows that, logically, there was no way he could’ve burst while underwater. And yet, he did. 

A cough. Tiny, barely audible, is what breaks their collective silence.

“What.” Shun mutters, and then asks, louder, from behind Yue. “What?!”

“It’s Junior.” she says, and walks.

Despite what she wants to do, she doesn’t stop beside him for long.

“Don’t worry.” she tells him, when she passes by. “We’ll do the explaining for you.”

And past him, to the shoreline. Where the scrolls were left.

She doesn’t have to reach out for them. Slowly, the come to her, pushed by an invisible current.

Taunting her with a gift.

She can see the mischievous glow, disappearing, satisfied. She wants to scream at it, but she just nods her head, taking what she can have.

Spirits.

She hates them.

“Is nobody going to explain?” Gang asks, his palms together when she turns back.

“I wish.” she says to herself.

“My son is a phoenix.” Iroh says.

“No way!” Hong yells. “Something’s wrong! There’s no way!”

“Sir-” Gang starts, but his mother cuts him off.

“How long has it been going on?” Shun asks. “Nevermind, that’s dumb, he was prolly born like that. But that’s why you’re on the run, right?”  
  


Zuko shivers in his uncle’s grasp, twitching. Maybe he hears his name.

Either way, they ignore Shun’s questions.

“He will tell you when we manage to get him- well, back.” he says, and she can see it in his eyes.

But something in her says that it isn’t time. Not yet, it says. Don’t do it right now.

“And, how do you do that?” Shun sits down, rubbing her forehead like she is desperately trying to make sense of it.

“We have to put him down.” she says. “But not now. Don’t do it right now.”

They all look at Yue.

“Trust me.” she says. “I have a feel. Come on, we have to read the scrolls.”

Because she sees the seal of the Fire Nation on them. And she has a feeling, a hint that something important hides behind the paper.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


He comes to in the stables they’d set up under the deck. Uncle is sleeping, propped up against a wall, lulled away by the peaceful sea.

Whatever took his life, it considered his price paid. He knows that, deep down. He doesn’t feel it anymore. No pressure. No nothing.

He sees them, the other birds. Isn’t that ironic? 

He can’t understand anything, anyone. It’s all dark and silent and they’re sleeping and he knows that there’s no way he’ll be able to talk to them.

Because there’s no way he has anything. There’s no way he has anybody.

He wants to puke.

Death won’t release him again. Not so soon.

He doesn’t know how long he spends there, standing, feeling his talons against the wood that isn’t perch. Watching Uncle, sleep tense, his face so unkept, so horribly shaken.

He wishes the old man would just abandon him. Maybe then he would be able to relax. Maybe then, if he found new things to fret over, he’d have time to relax.

Maybe he could find a way to go back home. To live in eternal comfort.

And as he stares, Zuko hears someone.

“You woke up.” Yue says. He doesn’t turn back to face her. “We were worried, well- shitless.”

He can’t answer, but he gives her a screech. A response nonetheless.

Does she understand it, that she has to stop taunting him? Maybe it isn’t the intention, but it’s what it feels like.

It feels horrible.

He hates it, he hates it so much.

“Sorry, sorry.” she says “I brought you some meat, though. You haven’t eaten today. Or yesterday. You can’t become a stick, no matter how much you want to look like one.”

He turns back, and with a strange ease, opens up his wings.

He takes flight, a short jump, something that feels nice, relieving, stretching out his hollow, old bones.

He tumbles down, just a little bit, but manages to land in her arm. It all feels unnatural.

But here’s the thing, everything is.

He no longer has any naturality. He no longer has anything.

“Wow.” she says, genuinely stunned. “You should get off my arm. You have stupidly sharp nails.”

Zuko can’t bring himself to give her anything other than a glare, as he hops back to the dirty deck. She sits down beside him, and sets down a plate.

Leftover meat, a dumpling, and some soup. It all looks cold, but he doesn’t mind it.

He doesn’t know if he eats out of hunger or obligation, but he eats.

“We’re going to shore tomorrow.” she says, now whispering, as if she’d just noticed Uncle was there, sleeping. “I won’t lie, I’m glad. This place is hell, and if Shun says one more remark, I’m going to nail her to a cutting board and grind her finely into flour.”

He gives her a look.

He’d hung out with Dekku, his ship’s cook, enough to know that meat and flour don’t become one another. It was how he was disciplined, albeit not in those terms. 

The man and him never got particularly well, but he was a good teacher, when it came to arduous tasks such as boiling water, and placing eggs in boiling water, and taking the eggs out of the boiling water without boiling any hands.

But he can’t say that. He can’t do anything but eat and listen as she talks.

“We’re all conflicted. Because, well- I don’t know how to explain it, but killing you again would be a stupid choice.”  
  


It’s pointless. He doesn’t care. He just wants to be himself again. 

He isn’t opposed to dying, anymore.

“We’re going to find a way, though.” she says “So don’t worry about it. I got Hong and Gang to lay off of you while you slept, but the moment I go up to the deck, you’re going to be hogged off by a bunch of children.”

He doesn’t want to, though.

He doesn’t want anything. He doesn’t think he’s ever going to want anything again.

Chunks of meat. Fried dumpling. It all tastes like ash. Too much and too little, all at the same time.

He is curious, though. He hopes his look can pass it to her.

“Those scrolls you brought back?” she starts “They were really, really useful. One of them, technically. The other was just a play.”

An incredulous screech goes a long way.

“No, really.” she says, raising her hands “I’m not good at it, but I can explain it to you. Nod once if you want me to try to tell you how your bird superpower works.”  
  


He nods. He can’t help but appreciate it, her company. Despite how tiny his body feels.

Too tiny.

Like he’s crammed somewhere he shouldn’t be. The constant shifting, it feels horrible.

“Good spirits, you shithead.” she grumbles, getting up. “I’m going to get the scroll, just wait a minute.”

He screeches at her. She gets it well enough, his message.

And so as she leaves, he sinks back into loneliness. He can’t wake Uncle up, and it isn’t like he wants to. He doesn’t want anyone around, but it still hurts.

They’re his flock, and he realizes he misses them.

He doesn’t have time to truly hate anything. He doesn’t have the energy for that, either, no matter how much he tries to.

He misses hunting, and he misses sleeping, even though he had never been particularly good at either of those things.

The world is all wrong, too colorful, too loud and too silent, all at the same time. He tries to keep himself breathing. To keep himself going.

“Zuko?” Yue enters again, and sees him staring at the half-eaten hunk of meat. “I’ve gotten the sacred tomes, jerkbender. Both of them.”

He won’t even have his firebending back, he realizes.

Not if he keeps dying like that.

He wonders what is keeping Uncle from killing him.

“I’m not great at reading earth kingdom, but these say that the more you die, the less human your mind becomes. Or your body. Or both. Again, I wasn’t super keen on learning how to read. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a fisherwoman, so I thought that I didn’t have to study.”

A curious twist of his head. Morbid interest swirling all around him.

“You’re going insane, basically.” she says, shrugging “And your firebending isn’t going to come back unless you stop dying for a bit. Can you read as a bird?”

Why do you think I can answer, he thinks.

“I’m already missing being an inconvenience to you.” she says. “But we’re going to shore later this evening. So you can go on and hunt me down.”

He doesn’t want to, but he nods.

He has no anger left.

There is no fire in him.

But, when she offers to read him the single-act theater play, something about a messenger of the sun, a plantation spirit and a goat going on a travel, he can almost keep his interest.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


The eerie emptiness of the shore almost feels unnatural.

There are no bodies to greet them. No warnings, no shipwrecks, no ruins.

Nothing.

There is only the sand. An untouched, bone-white, hot against Yue’s feet when she steps onto it. There is only the sea, eerily calm.

He’s already passed. They’ve already faced his children, his currents. There is nothing left.

They’re so far from the north, she realizes.

They're so far from anything that could’ve been cold. They’re so, so far away.

So warm. It doesn’t fit. It doesn’t match what her mind feels like.

“It’s beautiful.” Iroh mutters.

He doesn't look beautiful. He looks exhausted, he looks broken and shattered and like a man that’s been destroyed over and over again.

He’s been losing sleep. That she knows.

He was a general. He was also a father, who lost his children too many times.

He’s taught her that she can’t console other people. She isn't comforting, no matter how hard she tries.

She’d heard him muttering to himself, horrible things about how he’s failed, about how his children were all gone. I’m gonna make this poetic later but rn this is just rly rly hard.

There is no saving.

There is no going back.

There is only the feeling, the near-supernatural pressure, against her temples, against her lungs and her heart. The more she walks, the more she feels it.

She feels weak. Like all that makes her herself is being leeched away.

And she nearly falls to her feet, when she sees it.

Orange.

Orange and yellow, faded and soaked and tore, shredded.

The eerie shades, the eerie shape, of someone she can recognize.

The uniform of a boy who said he couldn’t feel cold. Of a boy who was once almost her friend. And then, she runs.

Tripping over her feet, feeling the strain of days at sea without barely walking, she runs.

His tattooed face stares up at the sky.

Cheeks once rosy and chubby with baby fat, now pale and hollow. He has hair now, his once meticulously shaved head now covered with a dry layer of peach fuzz.

She wouldn’t recognize him, if it were not for the arrows, for the clothes. 

Hooded eyes, closed. But he isn’t dead, not like it would’ve been merciful, to her and him alike, for he breathes.

Avatar Aang sleeps.

Spat out by the ocean.

Thrown away and left to die.

The pieces connect in her mind before Iroh and Shun and the others arrive.

But why is he alive?

She should just put an end to that. To him. It would be easy, but she falters nonetheless. Her mercy wouldn’t last for long.

He’s just come back again.

She should’ve been quicker, to finish him off, even if the thought sends shivers down her spine and makes her queasy and-

And she sees them. Staring with jaws agape and eyes wide and fear-fear-fear.

Zuko, who had reached flight, lands near them.

And she sees it in his eyes, right before he makes his decision.

She remembers his quest. She wants to nod, but before she can-

Avatar Aang breathes, twisting and turning.

And opens his eyes, staring at Zuko.

Her friend opens his too-wide beak, and closes it.

One breath. In. Out.

And before she can even blink again, he opens his wings. And she can't move, she's stunned, as Zuko turns back, and takes flight.   
  
  



	9. INTERLUDE - Little Pistol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello please remember to give me attention or else i will fucking cry
> 
> anyways does anyone want a plush velociraptor? i cant give yall one but theres a plush pattern for one here https://www.deviantart.com/isismasshiro/art/Feathered-velociraptor-plushie-PATTERNS-616728982

Oh, the cold of the desert nights.

It presses against Sokka’s back. The dryness in his mouth is more familiar than whatever came before it, the hunger no longer pressing or hurting him, no longer keeping him awake.

Now, other things keep him from sleeping.

A part of him, shallow and childish, still thinks that it’s a shame all his supposed muscle mass is gone. And he knows what that means.

He is becoming weak.

And he won’t be able to keep going for very long, not if this keeps on going.

But this isn’t about him. Not anymore, and not that it ever was.

“Sokka?” Katara asks, her voice raspy and snappy as she guides Appa.

The bunch of them had long since taken to journeying during the night. Cooler and easier, despite how hard it tended to be to keep track of where they were going.

Clouds or no clouds, the night was always the night.

“Uh?” he feels so dried out, he can’t say much more. His legs seem to faulter at every step, and he feels so, so very close to breaking.

There is no more heat in the sand. It’s all cold now. He could sit down, he could lay down.

He could let himself become cold too, a part of his brain thinks.

(Cold like the corpses that littered the streets.

Cold like the children, whose blood stained his hands when he grabbed onto them, trying to shake some reaction out of those still bodies, expressionless and closed, almost peaceful.

He can still remember the children, because, back then, they’d looked so much like Aang.

He wonders if Aang is cold too.)

“Are you okay?” her eyes shine with what he’d learned was tapetum lucidum. As children, he and his family had all called those “waterbending eyes”.

A gift from Tui.

Waterbender eyes, shining like the moon.

“Do you think I’m going crazy?” he asks, looking at her like she isn’t dead, like she will give an answer.

“Don’t ask the moon if you’re insane.” Katara jabs at his side. “Ask something that would answer even if you weren’t.”

They’re watching her now.

She’s watching them. They’d said, back at home, that the moon was blind like love itself, but Sokka likes thinking she can see them, from up there.

They walk in silence.

He wishes Appa were feeling well enough to fly.

“We don’t even have ice to push each other off of.” he eventually comments.

There’s no laughter.

“Do you think we’ll find an oasis tomorrow?” Katara asks, after a while more.

None of them want to be fully silent. They aren’t the kind of people who could get used to a world that isn’t loud.

Step after step.

Nothing but sand, even if he always expects to find a piece of wood or bone, at each step he begrudgingly takes.

“I think that we’ll be able to find some water tonight.” Katara says “If not an oasis, a tree I can dry out.”

None of her newfound prowess in waterbending - not the fact that she could now take water from living things, not anything else - could make her sound anything but tiny.

He wonders if she feels as tiny as he does. Because Sokka feels infinitesimally small. Like a grain of sand, like the seed of a tree, like the egg of a humming-shrimp.

“When Appa’s rested, it’s gonna be easier to predict where we’re going.” he says, instead of feeding into her hopes.

Tui and La both know that a man’s spirit can eat from anything’s hand, if there’s enough despair in it.

No response, though. He can feel it, the sudden tension.

Katara doesn’t think that Appa - the last thing they have from their friend, in the end - is going to be able to get better.

“You know he’ll get well.” he says. “We just have to get him some water, maybe a little grass. And we’ll be able to do that when we find an oasis, Katara.”

All his words feel dried-out. Nothing feels genuine, nothing feels nice enough to soothe them.

Sokka can’t help it.

He can’t help but lie, but pray away all his hopelessness.

He wonders if Yue will see him when it’s all over.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


They have discarded the boy.

The world no longer needs the boy. He ran away once, and he left the world to its device. The boy was the reason the war had happened, the harmony had been disrupted.

The reason his wife had died.

His hatred for the boy made them all strong, as they ate away his mind and his name and all that made him a coward, all that had once made him the horrid, runaway mass of bones and blood he was.

But they - he, and all the others that are keeping him company now - had needed him.

He had been powerful.

And he had provided plenty for them, with his power. The energy flowing through him, it had been their food.

But they no longer needed his food, despite all the mouths La had to feed now.

For his anger, it nurtures them.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Toph isn’t stupid. It's one of the few things she truly knows.

Beside that fact, she knows just what she got herself into, even if she wishes she didn’t.

She doesn’t know if she wishes she hadn’t gotten there in the first place, or if she wishes she were ignorant enough to remain unknowing.

Maybe she is, because she no longer knows anything, be it about herself or anyone else.

But Toph had never been at the war’s mercy before.

But now, she lives with three soldiers.

They were forged for that.

She can’t help but think about it. Those people are deadly. Forged like metal, their words sharper than knives.

And she knows that's just their bark.

She doesn't think she wants to know what their bite feels like.

She can’t really ask anything.

Showing ignorance would mean vulnerability, for someone like Azula. Her eyes glint like those of a predator, scanning Toph for weakness, for anything she can manipulate.

And, in her heartbeat, there’s not a single falter or skip when she lies.

That scares Toph.

That scares the ever-living, undying shit out of Toph. 

Because Toph’s a normal person, despite the whole best-earthbender-in-the-world thing. 

And she’s seen Azula say factually incorrect things - things there’s no way someone like her would believe in, not if she's as educated as she claims to be - with a straight heart.  She can’t attest for the face, but she heard what went on inside, and that's what really matters.

Not a single skipping beat. Not a quickening of breath, _nothing_.

And she doesn’t have to see Azula’s eyes to know what their stare feels like.

She walks herself through her morning training every day, feeling them against her back.

A wall squat, inspected closely.

A jumping Li with some weights added in, the silent stare of someone who doesn't feel human.

She doesn't ever have to correct Toph. Not out loud, not when she's so tense already.

All that stuff, it’s new to her.

“I need you on your best form, dirt-rat.” Azula told her, the first night. “And thus, you shall train.”

And train she does.

Holly spirits and holly shit, train she does.

Because Toph can’t just ignore what she got herself into. 

She'll have to defend herself against those three, when the time comes.

But for now, she wears the mask of rudeness, brash childishness.

And so, that morning, she stops staring at the ceiling of the dirt-tent she’d set up, feeling the creeping of the sun by the way her captor-predator-companion gets up.

The sunrise feels like it’s too early, so she yawns and stretches sore, tense muscles, pretending her body is relaxed and her mind is calm.

With Azula, their fire never goes out during the night.

It had never spiraled out of control before, though.

That's what makes the smell of something burning quite new.

They’d been… Avoiding, to say the least, any cooking duty, during the span of their trip together. But rations had run out last evening.

Despite being a “rat”, Toph had been sent to hunt like a dog. Sure, Mai had been begrudgingly taken along.

She likes thinking that it's mostly because not even someone as crazy as Azula leaves the blind girl alone with a knife.

“When the men have no dogs, they hunt with cats.” a maid had once read to her from a scroll. Toph supposes that, when there are no cats, the men hunt with their rats.

“Good morning, Princess.” she says, with a naturallity that doesn’t fit what’s going on in her head.

But nobody can say she isn’t the type to fake well, when Azula never calls her out on her bullshit.

She goes fully ignored.

The smell of something burning goes a long way.

“Is it chicken-pig or pig-chicken?” she sniffs the air, sitting down on a dry log. "Smells like shit, to be honest."

“It's chicken-hog, you caught it yesterday.” she replies “Are you getting brainrot already?”

Toph scratches her chin, thinking very, very hard.

“Well, it’s burning either way.” She finally says. “And what are you doing, cooking meat for breakfast?”

They’d never had that sort of pickiness back at home, and thus, the eating habits of those people had become a frequent point of discussion.

Frankly, she’d be surprised to see fish at the breakfast table, back at home.

“If it’s burning, then cook it yourself.” Azula threatens, even though it isn’t as much a threat to Toph as it is to the sanity and healthy well-being of the rest of the camp.

“Calm down and lower the heat.” she points out. "Nothing in here seems unsalvageable."

Her heart hammers in her chest, and she wonders if the average firebender has better hearing than an actual, human person.

“I will calm down the day I ascend to the throne.” Azula declares. She sounds very calm.

“I can hear all the fat sizzling away. The chef back at home said fat was _flavor_.”   
  


“Then the chef back at your home ate pure lard.”

“His food was better than charcoal.” she says. “Princess, ma’am.”

She can hear scuffling from the tent.

“ _Shut_ _up_ , you two!” Mai yell-grumbles, and Toph can feel her drifting back asleep as quickly as she’d awoken.

Toph is always surprised at just how much that girl can sleep.

If she were all the examples of Fire Nation women she’d had, then she would’ve been able to make the fallacious (?) affirmation that all Fire Nation women do is eat hot soba, play with knives, sleep and lie.

She kind of appreciates Mai, even though she wishes all the Fire Nation women were little Mais instead of little _APESHIT INSANE MONSTROSITIES OF NATURE WITH FERMENTING DOUGH IN THEIR ARMPITS THAT WAKE EVERYONE UP SCREAMING LIKE A BANSHEE AS THEY DO SEVEN CARTWHEELS TO GO THE BATHROOM AND TRAMPLE TOPH EVERY. SINGLE. MORNING._

In case you haven’t noticed it yet, Toph absolutely adores Ty Lee. 

Back, out of her mind and to the horrible scene unfolding in their camp, Azula is trying to turn the beautiful animal Toph had been forced to put down by her innate craving of salt pork into firewood.

“I’m not shutting up until Azula stops burning all the meat!” she is louder now. Some would call it yelling.

And something in her heartbeat falters. Like she’s-

Like there’s something wrong.

And Toph isn’t an animal rescuer, she isn’t going to look at a jaguar-dingo’s wounds. 

She isn’t there to poke and prod. 

She’s there to hunt someone down, and then, once that is done, she is going to take a nice, long nap, without being worried about the camp burning down or about Azula castrating random passersby people.

Toph tended to like it when the castration was verbal, but, with Azula’s increased irritation at not being attended to by servants every morning, everyone feared an actual escalation.

“I am not burning it, rat.” she says, but there’s a growl deep in her voice, a tension so subtle that it’s subconscious. “I am tarnishing away the salmonela. All of it.”

“You’re whatting what now, babe?” Ty Lee asks, summoned to the camp by the smell of a fight she has to de-escalate.

Toph wants to argue that no, she isn’t, there’s no salmonela to tarnish. There’s just bad cooking skills, and Azula-level cooking skills, which are somehow worse.

But nobody is there to argue. They’re just there to feel small and be tired, as long as Toph’s concerned.

“I am making this food safe for consumption, Ty Lee.” she says. “Human consumption. Because, as far as I know, all of us in here are humans.”   
  


That is the least hateful thing she’s heard coming out of Azula’s mouth that week. _Congrats_.

“Azula, it’s… Delightful.” Ty Lee lies. “I love the smell. What spices did you use?”   
  


“Only the seasonings nature gave us.” Azula preens. 

“So, nothing.” Toph points out. 

“Yup. It’s healthier this way.” she smiles, like she thinks of health.

In Toph’s humble opinion-

“Good food is better than good body.” she says, and then amends, when she hears nothing but silence. “I am not giving any other comments on how wrong you are.”.

She feels Mai stir up from the tent, yawning and stretching like someone who didn’t just plant knives all over the camp for the sake of protection and her sick sense of humor.

“I’m grabbing some street fried food from the town.” she simply points out, entering the camp area and loudly sniffing the air.. “Do any of you want oil strips?”

“It would be a nice side dish.” Ty Lee points out, clearly wanting out from eating charcoal. She’s pretty convincing, though, she has to give her that.

“I’m not letting you take this as a vacation, girls.” Azula says. “You are not eating any more deep fried food in my watch.”

“It’s shallow fried, though.” Toph points out. “And we really want it. Don’t we, Ty Lee?”   
  


“ _Yeah_!” she cheers. 

“No.” Azula pointedly says, irritated.

“Yes.” Toph says, before starting up the chanting. “Yes. Yes. _Please_?”

The please stings in her mouth.

“We’re begging you.” Ty Lee dramatizes. “Let us have a scallion pancake at least, if we can’t have anything else, my brave Princess! We beg for forgiveness for our sins before-”

“Then beg.” Azula shuts them up. “Or eat my perfectly salmonela-free pork.”

“You’d said it was chicken.” All earlier apprehension is forgotten, for now, Toph can be absolutely _unbearable_.

It’s their game.

There is the bare restraint, the slightly longer exhalation that is the way the princess sighs.

“Pork-chicken.”

“Chicken-pork.”

“You’re the next one to become firewood.” Ty Lee whispers to her, clearly not aware of the threat she is under.

“Anyways, I think that is ready.” Mai points out. “Like. Really ready.”

“Does anyone have rice?” Ty Lee finally asks out loud, the question in everyone’s minds now in her mouth. “I don’t think it’s as nice to eat pure meat.”

“Yes it is. We’re in the wilderness, we don’t have the resources for this.” Azula says. “And none of you got up early enough to make fresh rice, and neither did you attempt to compensate for your horrible errors, instead opting to beg like children. And, like children, you shall be taught by your suffering.”

Toph sometimes thinks that Azula has a mirror somewhere, and is staging every situation they ever get in in order to give overly specific, highly suspicious speeches.

“I’m calling leftovers.” She says, opting not to comment on the whole speech, after the brief-but-whole minute of silence sparked by whatever that was. “Mai has been hoarding leftover rice and noodles on a jar for like, a _week_.”

“Oh?” Azula smells the interesting information. “Is that what you say?”

“Yes.” Toph gives her the contraband, tries to be on the creature’s semi-half-maybe-one-quarter-decent side. “She has a jar full of cooked food, mostly from the fair she keeps sneaking into. She hasn't even been snacking on it, because she's too scared to come here and warm it up.”

“I’m delighted to hear that.” She says, and her heart says so. “But, dear Toph, why did you not warn us earlier? Are you with her on this ploy? Are you two planning on starving the rest of the team to keep up your gluttony? Is that your plan, you _treacherous beast_?”

Confusion overtakes her. Genuine and Perfectly Acceptable for the situation.

“ _No?? It just never came up??? In a conversation???_ ” She says, raising her hands “Calm down. We hadn’t even needed leftovers until right now. Calm down, Tiger.”

“I physically refuse to remain calm.” Azula says, calmly. “Now come on, grab me the rice.”   
  


Toph snorts.

For once, what she says does not sound threatening.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


The boy’s eyes open. 

The world isn’t as blue as he remembers it being, but the light still stings his eyes, so he closes them.

Something is _wrong_.

That’s the only thing that’s clear.

He tries to ask where he is, but when he opens his mouth, all he can do is choke, like he suddenly forgot how to breathe.

He was part of them. He was living in them, they were beside him. So much, so many. Where are all of them?

His head suddenly feels _silent_.

He feels like he lost something.

“Hello.” a warm voice says. “We’re glad to see you awake, Avatar Aang.”

_ Avatar Aang? _

He doesn’t know if that’s his name. He thinks it might be, so he opens his eyes, looks at whoever called to him.

A man. A scratchy beard, unkept, and a pair of soft eyes that almost glitter golden in their dark, hollowed-out sockets. His smile, though, is warm like the sun.

Unintimidated by his lack of response, the man asks:

“Would you like some sweet tea? I fear we do not have much in terms of snack food, but we’ll be cooking up lunch soon enough.”

“ _Uh_?” he manages to ask.

The man is nonchalant, happy. But there’s something strained. Something so, so very strained and wrong and forced out.

He looks like he’s as lost as the Avatar Aang is.

But he gets up, sits onto his knees. Moving feels wrong.

Everything is _weird_ and _wrong_ and he knows deep down that that isn’t how he’s supposed to feel, how he’s supposed to be.

He misses the others. Their screaming had long since turned familiar, almost welcome.

He misses not having to think much.

“Who are you?” he asks, the words falling through his cracked lips.

The man feels _familiar,_ even if just vaguely, like a memory that tugs on him, like a child grabbing onto his leg.

“I am Guanting.” he says. “Do you remember who you are?”

“Cool.” he says, going with the flow. “I don’t, but I’m glad to see you!”

He _is_! He’s just happy he didn’t wake up all alone against the world.

The man seems like someone he can trust. Like someone familiar, even though he feels like he should remember something else, something more important.

“You’re my daughter’s friend.” the man smiles. “We’d thought you’d been lost. But now, you have come back, to help us in these rough times. Don't you remember _anything_?”

And something in that simple statement makes him look at his hands. He feels like he should know everything. But that makes no sense, because he is supposed to be human.

Is he human?

His hands say so. 

They’re really small. Bony, too. Is he that small all over? He doesn’t remember being that small, among the others.

The sand falls from them naturally, when he grabs some.

“I don’t know, sir.” he says again. “I don’t know anything.”

Sand falls through his hands. The world is silent, unbreathing, unblinking, around them. But he can't help but feel like he's being listened to.

Trust, trust. It’s tiny but it doesn’t fall off like the sand, it doesn't go away and blend into the crowd so easily.

The world is calling him a liar, and he feels like it, despite that being nothing but the truth.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


Appa got _better_.

And Sokka can’t believe it, he can’t make it feel true and genuine and like it’s happening, but something went right, for once.

They’re flying again, now. The night is a blanket around them, a final burst of cool wind, ruffling his hair, tugging at his clothes.

He smiles.

Something went _right_.

Momo isn’t with them anymore, but Appa got better.

Some water did him good, yes. And the happiness is contagious, because flying feels nice, the wind whipping at the two of them.

They’re going to save their friend.

“We’re nearly there!” Katara laughs.

She looks like herself again, in that brief second, the darkness taking away the dirt from her features, the weathered, sad look from her luminescent eyes.

He can almost feel like he’s Sokka again.

“Can you see it?” he asks, pointing to the distance, over the endless dunes of sand, over the husks of trees, over the bones of things that didn’t manage to last as long as them.

Because he can see it, in the distance. The tower, bathed in dim moonlight, in a world that for once can almost look kind.

She nods, and they sit beside one another on the saddle, silent but not unhappy.

The moon smiles down at them, when he looks up at her. Her crescent face, the passing phases.

(How long has it been?)

“See, Yue?” he wants to ask her. “See, we _did it!_ ”

But he can’t.

Because she isn’t there anymore, and he needs to learn that.

He can’t keep himself like that.

There are other sticks to hang his hope from.

But, for once, he can look down and still smile, and still feel happy.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  
  


“ _Stop it._ ” Azula orders, threateningly.

Toph throws another glob of mud onto Ty Lee’s face.

The girl giggles, and accepts the invitation to have a fight.

She’d heard of the people on high mountains, of how they’d have snowfights. And she supposes it’s just like that, really.

There’s no difference, there’s only that bit of fun, that mindless indulgence in something that seems almost projected to annoy the ever living shit out of Mai and Azula.

“It’s not my fault you can’t have fun, you know.” Toph smiles, knees-deep into the swampland.

“It’s my very own fault…” Azula declares. “That I have basic hygiene, unlike the two of you, then?”

“Just lay back, the dirt isn’t going to kill you.” She invites. “We have to go through this place to get back to shore either way, so you can either be a pussy, or do your job.”

“The dirt isn’t going to kill anyone. Me, however?” Azula says, looking down on them. “I’m still making up my mind. Carry me, and you shall be spared.”

Toph laughs.

Mai does the little heart thumbs-up thing she does when something incredibly stupid and hilarious is done.

As much as she gives the girl shit, she is the least scary person in that camp.

“Sure thing, ‘Zula!” Ty Lee says. “Hop onto my back, and I’ll carry you through hardship, to the stars!”

Toph throws another glob of mud at the sap’s face, and goes back to walking.

“Are you three frogs gonna cross the swamp?” she shouts out. “Because I sure ain’t waiting for you!”

Mai groans, clearly _not_ wanting to do that for as long as she lives.

Azula sounds grossed-out, but hops onto Ty Lee’s back, like the little frog baby she is. Bull-Frog-crocodiles carry their young in their mouths and backs, but that doesn't make them any less dangerous.

Those girls are undoubtedly human, but nonetheless, that is a smart allegory. Because Toph suffers from Big Smart, and she is great at suffering from it.

“Can’t anyone carry me?” Mai asks, finally.

She seems scared of the mud, of all things. And Toph can't help but laugh at what she doesn't understand.

“D’aw, don’t be scared!” Toph jeers “It’s just some _bugs_ in some _mud_!”

“Mai, go in. You do not get the privilege of being carried.” Azula encourages.

She restrains her laughter, bites it back, swallows it down, and says instead:

“Are you _sure_ Ty Lee won’t be able to carry some more? Mai’s pretty light, not gonna lie.” a smile, totally not scary.

She can feel Ty Lee trembling, but she is evil and vengeful and Ty Lee did not bring her any street barbecue last night, therefore, she must be banished.

“I don’t care how much Ty Lee can carry, I’m not going into the mud.” Mai says, and Toph can feel the glorious moment, the “Oh shit” done in all of their hearts collectively, when Mai hops off the rock she was standing in, right into Azula’s back.

Well, she can’t really see the oh shit in Azula and Mai - they're not exactly on the ground, one of them is jumping, the other is being piggybacked into freedom -, but she can feel it on Ty Lee, as she falls into the mud, dragging down all of them.

The wet noise, the loud “ _ewww_ ” that Mai lets out.

It’s all too much.

And Toph finally gives in, and loses it.

She doesn’t know what she loses, but there’s something that’s definitely no longer there when she laughs at the general disgrace that has been inflicted through her muddy, dirty hands.

  
  


-

  
  
  
  


Nothing fits right. The bowl of plain white rice doesn’t fit on Aang’s hands and the saying that he isn’t a person who likes _eating meat doesn’t fit on his head and it’s all so silent and so loud and he can’t eat and-_

“Are you well?” Guanting asks, tapping on his shoulder. “You look sick, Aang. Are you sure you don’t want to lay down?”

Aang thinks. Everything is unnatural and wrong and he just wants to stop feeling.

He doesn’t want to lay down, but there’s something that feels natural.

Something he can do.

Not quite sleeping, but he has to go.

He smiles, happy at having a goal.

“Actually, Mr. Guanting, sir?” he says, looking up at the man. “I think I’m going to take a nap. Can you warm my rice when I wake up again?”

“Don’t worry about it.” he smiles, and pats his shoulder. “All will be okay.”

And maybe that man isn’t innocent, maybe he knows what Aang is going to do. Maybe he’s accepted that he has to run away.

Maybe he’s letting him go.

He knows the man won’t harbor any grudges. He doesn’t look like the type to do that. He doesn't look like the type to do anything weird, anything wrong, anything manipulative or suspicious.

Either way, he isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’s going _away_.

He’s never going to be back in that place. Never again.

Aang’s finding somewhere far far away, where the ocean can’t scream at him and where he can be away, drying out from drowning in that war.

Yes, that is a relieving though.

He doesn’t feel like himself, but it’s alright, because he doesn’t know who he is supposed to be.

Steps, steps, steps.

Sand and seashells. So many of them.

He makes sure not to crunch any under his feet, as he walks away from the shoreline, away and away from the camp, to the shelter of the trees.

To somewhere where nothing can reach him.

But then, as he thinks that, he feels someone. Something, maybe.

What matters is that, as he approaches the treeline, he hears someone coming behind him.

But he doesn’t look back once.

He just goes in deeper and deeper.

“You’re not getting away.” the girl from before, the one that’s his friend says. He isn’t sure why, but there’s something wrong with her, even if he doesn’t know what it is.

“I’m not.” he says. “Don’t worry, Ming, I’m just going to take a nap.”

He smiles at her. Her face is cold, expressionless, staring back at him blankly.

“You’re going somewhere.” she says. “I used to be your friend. Trust me, I know that you’re trying to do something. And you’re going nowhere, not when you still don’t remember anything”

Her voice is _sickly_.

There’s something fake in her, a part of his brain says. But no, that can’t be it.

Everyone has secrets, he knows. And she’s his friend, she’s just concerned. He justifies, to himself, that he’s just thinking up reasons to be suspicious.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he says, softly, carelessly.

He doesn’t know anything. He isn’t a liar, he is just free.

And he walks faster.

The thought that he misses his glider is sudden. 

He remembers it now, flying among temples and trees and beside a huge creature with six legs and warm eyes that loved him and a girl and a boy that were as close to brother and sister as someone like him could ever have.

“If you know who I am…” he says. “Then who am I? Beside the avatar, I mean.”   
  


“You’re Aang.” she - Ming, his friend-whom-he-trusts - says “And you’re kind and nice, and you’re helping me find Junior. He got overwhelmed when he saw you, and he ran away.”

Junior. He tries to conjure up something, anything, but the name brings nothing to his mind, but he doesn't know what he'd expected.

“Who’s he, again?”

“My brother, your friend.” she says, smiling warmly. “He wanted you to go home with him. To end this war once and for all.”

She says the words warmly, falling into step with him.

And he can’t find anything wrong in what she’s saying, even if he doesn’t want to mess with the war, to have anything to do with it.

“I don’t want anything to do with the war.” he says. “I don’t care about defeating any ocean lords or fire lords or earth lords-”

“I know, I know.” she raises her hands up, calmly. “But you can’t always do what you want, Aang.”   


She sounds like a chiding sister. Like she’s pulling an impression of someone he knew before.

And Aang doesn’t know if he’s usually this paranoid, but something seems wrong.

There has to be something wrong. But he can’t discern why he thinks that and he can’t make himself not think that and-

And something’s very, very wrong, a part of his brain says. He can’t find what it is, and that scares him.

Because Ming looks perfectly normal and warm. He knows that her eyes are just like that, a bit distant, a bit cold.

He knows that something is wrong, but he can’t say what and he can’t make it not wrong and he can’t do anything but trust.

“You can’t stop me.” he objects, still smiling, even if he now understands how strained the expression is. 

And she grabs his arm. Sudden, and with a surprising strength. Like a gaboon-wolf's bite, dragging him into the pit, into its mouth.

“You don’t have a glider. Come on, let’s go back to the camp. You don’t want to worry my father, do you?”

He is silent, letting himself be dragged along, not objecting to the weird display of strenght, the weird-weird-weird way she clings to him, forcefully.

She’s just anxious, he reminds himself. That’s why she seems so strong.

“We’ll find Junior soon enough.” she smiles. “And you’ll remember, don’t worry yourself out.”

Warm words.

A hand cold and strong, nails sharp and unkept, as she drags him back.

He can _almost_ remember something vital.

  
  


-

  
  
  
  


The library stretches on around them. It seems to go on longer and longer the more he looks, as if showing off its prowess, its magnificence.

It’s the first cool place Sokka has seen in what feels like ages. Green tile floors, and an energy so strong it seems to both rejuvenate him and knock him down to his feet.

“What do you seek?” the spirit asks them, a voice eerily human from a throat that should not be able to do that.

A massive owl, of a black so deep it seems to suck in the light instead of reflecting it. His face, stark white, stares down at them, expressionless in that way all spirits are.

“We seek knowledge.” he bows, letting himself do the talking. “We must stop La. He has taken over the avatar and now he seeks to destroy the Fire Nation, killing thousands of innocent people in its - his - wake.”

And there’s something in the spirit’s eyes.

He wonders how he got himself into that in the first place.

  
  
  


-

  
  


The bunch of them wakes up, in the middle of the night, to something screaming.

It almost sounds like a human wail, to Toph's ears. But it can't be, they're alone. They're all alone, except for the frogs and the bugs and the trees.

But Azula gets up, goes walking to the screaming before she can sate her curiosity herself.

“What the _hell_ is that?” Mai asks, sitting up for a brief second.

Screeching, as the princess approaches. Go away, go away, it seems to say. 

But no warnings can stop her from drawing in closer.

“A moon-mother.” Azula says, finding the thing, grabbing it in a way that's almost gentle, that makes it go quiet. Toph wonders if she already managed to snap its neck, or if it somehow found misinformed refuge in something like her. "I wonder what something like this is doing here…”

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Knowledge hurts more than ignorance, sometimes.

But now, Sokka knows.

He knows how to get Aang off the ocean spirit, if it doesn’t want to let go.

“Are you sure we can’t find the fish and kill it?” the question sounds like a joke, like something to be taken out of context, like something to tease him about.

“Sokka, you read it.” Katara’s eyes are tear-filled, scared.

Luminescent like the spirit’s glow, when it took over their friend.

And now, now he knows what he has to do.

The scroll stares at him from the tile floor.

That place would be stunning, its knowledge enticing, were it not for the way the knowledge stings and hurts and makes him want to vomit.

Because Sokka knows that he has to kill whatever gave the ocean power. That is the only way, other than trying to talk an angry spirit out of its grief.

And Aang was the only one who could do that.

He remembers the hei-bai spirit, how Aang had calmed him so easily, with his kind words and his innocent sway. But this wasn't like that. There was no innocence in here.

There was no Aang to help them.

He wishes his friend could survive, to help them, to find a way out.

But Sokka and Katara look at eachother, and they know what they have to do. 

He wonders if she’s also trying to convince herself, also lying that he isn’t there anymore, that he’s already dead, that killing him to stop La won’t be an issue.

  
  
  



	10. when i'm howling and barking this song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER ONE - trigger warnings are like.... animal stuff????????????????????????????????????????
> 
> DISCLAIMER TWO - PLEASE FOR THE FUCK OF LOVE BIRD COMMUNITY DON'T FUCKING KILL ME IN MY SLEEP PLEASE

The grasping hands tighten around him.

Surreally, he feels the firebender-warmth, an unnatural pulse, an energy beneath, and the gentle grasp of a pygmy-puma that hasn’t sunk in its claws, and feels like he’s in the hands of a giant. 

“I wonder what something like this is doing here…” Azula murmurs to herself. Savoring hands. Eerie silence.

Zuko can’t help but make himself small, go silent. If he were to bite her, he knows she wouldn’t hesitate.

She hadn’t hesitated to kill Uncle, afterall.

And if he came back, who knows what she’d do to him? He’d like to think that she didn’t hate him enough to kill him, but, in her hands, he can feel the danger, even though she doesn’t know that that’s him.

But, if she did, he knows very well that his fate wouldn’t be kind.

Her grasp is gentle. His heartbeat pumps fast, rushes in his ears. He finds it suddenly difficult to breathe.

“Ooh, can I see her?” he hears the voice, and it all comes back to his memory.

Bite bite bite he wants to bite. 

The contortionist comes into scene, her too-long limbs and her too-wide smile. They all look so wrong, grown-up like this.

She and his Mai look older, rougher now. He can’t connect their faces with the children he once knew.

They were so small, when they’d first met. Now, they tower over him like giants.

The only thing he has to connect them to their childhood counterparts is the hands, anxious and ready to grab-grab-grab.

“Poor thing.” Ty Lee murmurs, coming closer with the too-big hands and the too-wide smile that make his body want to run and hiss and snap.

They aren’t bugs, but he’ll eat the hands if she tries to come any closer.

“You’re a cutie, you know?” she lets Azula snicker on about her poor taste in animals, and just keeps talking. “It’s gonna be alright.”

She tries to touch him.

Zuko snaps, a part of him feeling like the world is going to end if he doesn’t do anything about those people.

Her hand flinches back, and he suddenly feels like he can almost breathe like normal.

Someone else peers from behind Mai and Ty Lee.

What did Azula do to gain a new one? Friendship had always been a reward in their family, and Zuko is suddenly unsure he wants to know what she did to get whoever that was.

“Guys, guys. Hear me out.” says a heavy accent, tired and halfway to resignation. “That’s not a parrot-cat, and it is going to bite you if you don’t act like normal fucking people and let it go.”

He wants to tell them that he won’t hesitate, that he agrees with the girl, that he will bite if they come any closer, but he can’t talk and screaming would mean dying and he doesn’t want to die again and-

“It looks hurt, though.” Ty Lee argues, trying to pet his head.

They’re loud, they’re arguing, he wants them to shut up shut up shut up he is gonna make them stop-

Ty Lee yelps in pain, as his beak sinks into her hand.

He knows he should feel guilty. She was his friend, once, and now he can’t let go.

The hands around him tighten further, pull him back. His little remaining self control keep him from biting any more, from snapping at those hands.

From fully losing his mind.

“I vote for a nice meal.” Azula says, a cruel smile that he can’t see in her face, but can hear in her voice. “But what about you?”

“I vote for a meal if you call someone other than you to cook it.” The unknown girl, a tiny thing - her hair covers her eyes, her mouth’s in a permanent, gruff frown - says, her arms crossed in front of her, her foot tapping on the ground as she inspects Zuko’s general direction.

“I vote we just get rid of this thing, do our drills, and get lunch at the fair.” Mai says. “It’s a wild animal, someone’s probably gonna be sick if we eat it.”

He’s sick, yes.

He’s anxious for when that will finally be over.

“Ty Lee?” Azula asks, lifting Zuko up to the girl.

“I still think we should help her.” she says. “She must be so scared right now.”

A discussion breaks out, loud voices arguing over one another, accents and bits of dialect slipping into one another, blending together.

Making the noise spin in his head.

“... You know what?” Azula asks. “We’ll nurse it back to health, and decide what we use it for later. Do any of you still have a crate?”

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


The weight of Yue’s lies sinks her shoulders. If she were to look at herself in a mirror, she’d see nothing but a sled polar-bear dog, carrying the made-up fantasies, intricacies of a story she created thoughtlessly.

She should have changed, but she didn’t. All honesty was left behind, in the name of seeming innocent, of being good. And now look at her.

It was what she was meant to do. She was not a pawn to the spirits, she was as dishonest as any other man.

But, when she looks at the boy - and there is no saying he is anything but a boy, he’s small and skinny and hungry for someone he can hand onto, someone he can trust - she can’t help but shake her head and beg for something to pull down the lies.

Look at him, she thinks, so fully convinced of a life he’d never lived.

Aang laughs and runs through the sand. Despite how he strays away from the sea, there is no ignoring the way the waves and puddles move with him. 

The gentle sway of the world, orbiting a boy ignorant of the power he holds.

“He’s so young.” she mutters to Iroh.

Holly spirits, he’s a child. She’s just realized that now, as he piggybacks Hong around, laughing at having his short hair pulled, and complying with the requests to go-faster and do-a-jump.

“It wasn’t his time yet.” the man agrees, and serves her some more sweet tea.

“You guys really into this whole omi-ninous conversation, eh?” Shun asks, chugging her third cup of the beverage.

“Yup.” she agrees, scratching at the back of her head. “Sure are.”

Her hair has been falling off in chunks, and her scalp itches.

“Do you guys want help to look for Junior?” Shun gets up. “I can always tell the boys to do the cleaning and get the boat ready. I can assume that you aren’t from this area of the kingdom, and I dunno how well you can guide yourselves around.”   
  


“Don’t worry about us.” Iroh smiles. “But we also must stop La, and you have to stay and prepare more supplies. We’re close enough, we just have to reach him.”

“And… How do we do that?” Shun revises the plan. “I still dont get wheter we fighting the fucking god or not.”

“I’d like to think we’re not.” Yue says. “Not with Aang. He might be able to reason with the ocean. He might do something to help.”

“Might isn’t enough, though.” Iroh says. “We’ll have a short time to train him, but train he must. I know some bending forms, I can help him.”

“Oh, you’re a bender?” Shun turns her head to them, her eyes brimming curiously “I’d just assumed you were normal people. No offense.”

Iroh laughs warmly.

(Falsely.)

“I’m not, but my brother was. I still know some forms that might be of good use to our friend.”

“Spirit shit.” she grumbles, shaking her head as if to clear her ears. “Well, I can teach him how to sweep the deck.”

That elicits a false smile from Yue.

“Perhaps, indeed.” Iroh rubs at his chin, and turns serious. “We have to get Junior back, though.”

And she makes a decision. A split second, and not much thought.

“You guys can get Aang and go on.” she gets up, and announces with resolve. “Me and Iroh are finding him.”

“How r’you two doing that again?” Shun looks up at her, and yet, she feels stared down. “Like, you both have a bad sense of direction, no offences. I’m still hellbent on helping you not get lost.”

Her shoulders sag in realization, and she flushes. Iroh knows the full story better than Shun does, but the humiliation still stings.

“Like, don’t get me wrong, I trust your judgement on finding your brother! But you’ve never been here before, and I’ve never been here before, but I do not trust you to not get lost while alone.” the woman gets up too, and looks at Yue, deep black eyes meeting hers.

She’s left fully silenced, flushed and wondering just what her plan of action was.

“I can reason with him better than most people can. His head is a hard one to get into, and I fear that no pair of siblings has much patience with one another.” Iroh smiles, reaching out a hand to help himself off the floor.

As if to illustrate, when he gets up and looks at the boys, Aang is trying to separate a fight between Gang and Hong.

“See?” Iroh asks. “But it will be alright. Shun, you can keep the boys from doing anything too irresponsible. We’ll come back by sundown, hopefully with Junior.”

“Fair enough.” Shun says, and, before she can fully walk away, she turns back and asks: “I’ll just go ahead and assume we don’t want the avatar kid going with you, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Yue says, still feeling her cheeks tinted red from the war paint of social awkwardness.

“Call me madam again and I will feed you to the ostrich-horses.” she gives a last poke to Yue’s nose and nerves alike, and walks off.

  
  
  


-

  
  


Zuko found himself in a crate. His screeching covered and shut down by nothing but the walls and the thin sheet that covers them.

In his prison, there is no light to guide him, no space for him to pace about, for him to distract himself.

There isn’t anything with the generosity to truly keep him company. Any noise from outside, to him, brings back the hope that he’s been found, that his screaming wasn’t in vain.

Every once in a while, the tiny one arrives, with a tiny portion of food and some small talk to be made.

"Hey, birdie." The tiny one comes up to his crate, lifts up the sheet. 

The sun streams in from the open door of the camping tent, illuminating the bare earth under his feet for the brief second before she seats herself in front of him. 

With a practiced hand, she slips a piece of black, burnt meat through the grates. Her hand is barely small enough to slip through, but quick enough to sneak away before he has the opportunity to grab onto it.

She either doesn’t care for the look he gives her, or simply doesn’t see it.

"They are shitheads, aren't they?" She talks, like she knows he can understand her. “Azula insists on cooking for us, so we’ve kinda slipped into a black foods only diet.”

The familiarity of the accent he’d come to associate with the northern earth kingdom denizens is gone. 

Something about her isn’t from that place. Maybe further inland, he wonders. 

How did Azula get her hands on that one?

“I’m Toph.” is her greeting, a smirk and two words. “I got kidnapped by those dumbasses, so we’re on the same boat. Metaphorically speaking, I mean.”

He can’t say anything back, so he just caws, urging her to go on.

Tedium.

Being in the cage is entediating, and he hangs onto any semblance of company and entertainment. 

He has nothing he can do, and, in the few hours he’s been there, nobody thought to come back and check on him.

Therefore, Zuko appreciates the company provided, as odd as it tends to be.

“I should release you soon.” she says. “You look good, and I know Azula would be an asshole about it because she thinks our survival requires drastic measures, but she’d come around.”

He comes a little closer. A bit at a time.

Tries to make himself small, curious and friendly. He isn’t sure how well he can pull off the impression, but he’d like to think that living with Azula taught him something.

Because Zuko has to get away. He has to go back and he has to get rid of the avatar, before he can go back to the ocean and kill his flock.

He knows they don’t really want him around, of course.

They would be better off without him in the long term, but he has to do something to help them, to make up for all that his temper had taken from them.

He-

He misses them already. In his story of bad prose and terrible acting, in the tragicomedy of his life, he’d just realized that he needs out of there.

Because Zuko isn’t about to accept that he’ll be stuck in there until the cycle repeats itself, until he dies over and over again.

And he knows that dying amongst those people would make him more than an animal, more than a meal.

He would become a resource.

And he isn’t sure he wants that to happen, even if that would make Father want him around. Because he has a duty, one honourable thing to do.

Something more important than any loyalty or any need to please.

So, he forces himself closer to her. Makes himself look friendly, too-wide eyes and too-wide mouth and soft cooing.

“You’re a smart thing.” she says. “Maybe I can just help you.”

“But how?” he wants to ask, but she does before him.

And she gets up, suddenly. Reaches a hand through the bars, and, much to his dismay, pets him.

He wants to bite bite bite tear into her make her-

But he can’t. So he just accepts the contact, lets it linger on, lets her feel his feathers with calloused fingers that feel wrong in his skin and make him feel like there are marks.

“‘Til later, alligator.” she whispers, sounding all too much like a child and what is she doing?

Leaving just like that?

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  
  


“Are you sure you don’t want to ride her?” Iroh asks her, one more time. There’s a furrow in his brow, as he puts an improvised saddle onto the ostrich-horse hen.

“You’re slower. No offence.” Yue says, suddenly realizing that she is spending far too much time with Shun, and thus, picking up the same weird habits of speech. She isn’t quite sure that she likes it.

“We’ll wait for you,alright?” Shun herself asks. “Because I don’t trust the four of us to find the stupid ocean spirit on our own, plus, you have a horse. No way you’re gonna take too long”   
  


Yue doesn’t open her mouth to mention the fact that at some point, any time becomes “too long”.

Instead, they bid their goodbyes, and recite the promises to return soon enough.

To not come back alone.

  
  


-

  
  
  


Both the little girl and the sun left Zuko alone. His cage covered in a red blanket, his world enveloped in an unnatural orange light.

His eyes closed, almost against his will. But he doesn’t feel like opposing the gentle pull, the need to perch rigidly and wait.

And he shouldn’t, but that’s what he did, to make the nothingness bearable. His lunch sat heavy inside him, and Agni’s uncaring eye had long since shut, long since allowed him to drift away.

When he opened his eyes again, the blanket was gone.

The world around him stretched out as far as he could see. And it looked like home.

It was beautiful.

It was wrong.

Across from him, a cage much like his held the Avatar.

He knew, suddenly, that he had failed to bring him back.

That clogged up his throat. That made something inside him well up, shame and defeat overtaking him.

It all felt wrong.

Aang aged in front of him. From a young boy to a handsome man to an old, shrivelled husk.

Like a phoenix, he burst into flames.

The cycle repeated itself, over and over. His nation cheered at each death, their voices incorporeal around the tormented.

Zuko shut his eyes, and shook his head.

When he opened them, he was in the throne room.

His cage was now golden. A circular, intricate thing, all decorated and pretty and reflecting off the blue flames.

“You overslept.” she says, sounding threatening. “You missed my coronation, Zuzu darling. How could you?”

He isn’t human, and she knows that. She likes that he isn’t competition anymore, that he’s stuck like that.

“Don’t you see, Zuzu?” she asks him, reaching a hand, teasing right out of his grasp.

He doesn’t feel like himself, so he tries to bite, tries to reach her hands.

His efforts give neither of them anything other than a reason for Azula’s laughter. 

She laughs until she is breathless, and then keeps laughing, the sound ringing on his ears, hurting his head.

“You don’t really see anything, do you?” she asks. “Mother said I was the monster out of the two of us. And yet, you were never even human to begin with.”

Her laughter is only interrupted by the crowd, suddenly surrounding them, cheering.

He tries to watch what they are cheering for, but Azula’s flames block his view.

“They’re burning, Bird.” her voice comes out sickly sweet, dripping with concern. “Are you sure that that wouldn’t hurt you too?”

“No? Fine, then.” with a wave of her hand, the flames recede.

In the sunshine, they have all burned already. Maggots crawl over their wounds, their mouths perpetually open in horror, asking him why why why why did you do this.

Uncle asks him in his head why did you let this happen and Yue’s eyes are blaming him but still so very far away and Shun holds charcoal-

“There is one left to go, if you want to watch.” she says, but before he can scream, before he can shake his head- “Of course you do, silly me.”

The avatar is going to burn the avatar is going to burn-

His cage is lowered, his arms and legs manacled, his face weathered and skinny-starved, his eyes sticking out like coins, but looking so very very hollow.

It’s all feverish around him, and he needs someone to blame, someone other than himself-

‘It’s your fault” he screeches, his voice a birdsong. Because it is, he brought La’s destruction and he destroyed everything and he killed all those people-

“Just as much as it is yours.” he says, with the voice of Uncle and Shun and Mom and the girl who fed him his lunch. “You brought me back here, Zuko.”

“And now he’s coming for us.” he finishes, as the wave crashes down.

Zuko can’t hold back his screech, as he jumps awake.

He can’t cry anymore. He can’t walk, and he can’t breathe and he’s stuck, breath puffing out with no fire to melt his cage.

There is no anger for him to burn through, and there is no kindling to start a fire.

Just a hollow where his bending once was, and a real world that feels as far away as his dream.

The sun is going down now. Agni is drifting off to sleep, just as his body jolts awake, as his mind spins around itself, like his pacing is making it dizzy.

“What do you want to do?” Zuko wants to ask himself.

“What do you want to do about that avatar of yours?”

But there are no questions he can ask himself, his mouth can’t form words, and his wings can’t write anything down.

And there is no fire left in him. 

He knows one thing, suddenly. That he can’t stop fighting, even if it’s all gone, all empty and broken.

He wants to go home. 

But, more than that, he wants to stop the ocean before it reaches his home. 

It doesn’t matter if he has to go back without the avatar, if it means his flock will have peace, happiness. Something other than this.

He sighs.

It feels like years ago, when he’d tried to break through the grates, when he’d tried to sneak out.

It feels like he’s had years to become compliant, even though he had nothing but a day.

Someone comes in, loud footsteps.

“Hey there.” the familiar voice chimes, lifting up an edge of the blanket, poking her head in. Unblinking grey eyes stare at his general direction.

He wants to scream at her to shut up, to get away, but she beats him to it, takes the blanket fully off, throws it away.

“Ty Lee, it woke up!” she says, still smiling.

There’s no malice in her eyes, in her smile. Nothing but this kind of childlike glee that there’s no way she can see in her own face.

Another face peers in through the tent’s entrance.

Despite how sudden they seem to have aged to his brain, Ty Lee still holds the same joyful, almost cute smile she did when they were all children, when they were all good and free and human.

She’s at the field already.

When will it change her, a part of his brain asks. When will it break her? 

Has it already happened?

“Hi there!” she coos, waving a hand. “You look better than before! More rested.”

“Ty Lee, it’s a fucking bird.” Toph pokes her side. “It’s not got facial expressions.”

“Not like you can see it.” the girl grumbles, but is still playful, fully accepting the second jab, a punch by any other name.

“My point still stands. It’s a bird, and it has wings. Are you sure you wanna do that?”

“They’re gonna grow back in.” Ty Lee mumbles “The feathers, I mean.”

She lifts up her other hand. Small, manicured, uncalloused.

“We didn’t have any scissors, sorry!” she holds up the knife. “But don’t worry, this will do just fine.”

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Yue can’t afford exhaustion, and Yue can’t bear the thought of losing her friend to those woods.

“Zuko?” she calls. “Come out, you idiot!”

“Nephew.” Iroh begs, like a mourning vulture, calling over the trees. “We can explain!”

“For- Ah, for shit’s fucking sake.” she pinches the bridge of her nose and grits her teeth, tired and broken and so, so very sad.

She feels hopeless.

With the sun’s descent, a realization comes to Yue.

“He’s becoming more like a moon-mother, right?” she asks Iroh, suddenly. Her eyes sparkle with something that she thinks might be hope. She knows he realizes it, but says it anyways, as if to convince herself “That means that he might be sleeping now.”

“That…” he says, scratching at his beard, before lifting up his head and smiling. “That could be it, Princess Yue.”

“Drop the princess.” she says, petting the ostrich-horse’s head. “I’m just Yue now, and I won’t be anyone’s princess until I can get my tribe back.”

“Fair, fair.” he admits, a forced smile on his face. “Now come on, I don’t think he’d be asleep right now. You know Zuko well enough to realize that, too.”

Not a single gentle proverb, she realizes. Nothing but the way he smiles and hushes the ostrich-horse along.

They’re both on the same page.

“Oh, he doesn’t sleep much.” she admits. “He taught me how to hunt before we left the shore. It’s just- Neither of us sleep easily.”

“Age will mellow it out, don’t you worry.” he sighs.

She smiles, lets the casual talking wash over the two of them. Make the world feel less nightmarish, for a brief minute or two.

Make it all feel a little bit kinder, until she hears rustling from the trees.

They look at each other. Any noise could be a sign of him, afterall.

“Zuko?” she asks, hopeful. 

It had sounded like it could be a bird, but of course, hope had made her a fool, for it was nothing. 

Nothing that could even provide help. Anything about his whereabouts.

She sighs.

“Hope is the last thing you let go of.” Iroh says. “And that is something that you shouldn’t let any experience take away. Now come on, let’s get going. Maybe we’ll have more luck up north. He seemed to have flown that way.”

The walk, the talk.

“You’d never explained to me, you know.” she brings up at some point, in a wave of deep nothingness. 

“What?” Iroh asks, like he already knows.

“Frankly, everything about the whole “royal family” deal.” she says, sighing as she bats away another moskito-tick.

“Oh…” he says. “Well, I suppose I owe you the full story.”

It all fades away in her mind, the explanations washing over her ears.

Deep breaths, in and out. She ought to keep going. She can’t do this, she can’t just- She can’t just let herself lose his tracks.

What little they hold of her friend, she won’t let it go.

When the story ends, the talk is all but done for.

Dry lips that begin to only open themselves to the opportunity of calling out, at any noise, at any rustling of a leaf or breaking of a branch, at anything that might mean hope to them.

They swallow down their doubts, carry their worries in their shoulders.

And yet, Yue accepts what little comfort the opportunity for a response can give her.

But she can’t help but wonder if something or someone else could hear them.

  
  


  
  


-

  
  
  


They trim Zuko’s wings in the haphazard fashion that people who never did a thing before tend to. 

He thrashes and rages and screeches, held down by a swaddled hand, as they cut away feathers.

Whenever he can, he bites. Lets her yelp and shout at him, profanities that wash over his ears.

She betrayed him she betrayed she hurt him he can’t do anything h-

And the hand gives out, releases him.

“See, it’s fine, you’re okay.” she shakes her hands, takes the blanket off.

Zuko feels naked, all of a sudden. But he can vaguely recognize, understand that it isn’t because of the sudden lack of pressure. It’s his wings.

He opens them up.

Feathers chopped haphazardly in half, or simply pulled out.

“Sorry, buddy.” Ty Lee says. “But hey, we agreed that you wouldn’t need to be in a cage if we did this.”

Zuko sees red.

And he screams, he shouldn’t have let himself feel safe let himself not feel scared enough not run away and now he can’t go back anymore.

All is red and he can’t help it, he can’t hold his anger back, it’s irrational but he screams as if they would understand.

He knows that at some point he stopped thinking.

It’s almost comedic, how a person’s fight comes back the moment they’re faced with no escape.

Zuko suddenly finds himself pinned down again, by too-firm hands on his neck. The familiar heat that he hasn’t felt in himself for so long.

“Nope.” her voice is gleeful, threatening.

Azula looks into his eyes, and he wonders if she’s satisfied with what she sees. But then, as soon as she focused on him, her face is to the others.

“It’s a wild animal, and you let it out of its cage.” she says. “Care to explain why?”

“He was sad there, come on!” Ty Lee says. “And Toph, Mai and I agreed that if we trimmed his wings he could be around the camp, right?”

“This isn’t your pet parrot, girls.” He is grabbed, lifted up. Held so tightly he can’t even move. “It’s a bird of prey, and, unless you can make a good argument, it’s also dinner.”

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


They roam. Farther and farther, straying away from the sun.

And then, they come across it.

The screeching. So familiar, so endangered, sending away the nostalgic apathy from Yue’s mind.

And then, it shuts up, as they hurry along, breaths heavy and eyes wide, silent in their hope that it’s the right person that they call for.

“It’s a bird of prey, and-” they hear, through the thick of the foliage.

They’re close enough to hear most of it, through their footsteps, their silent chase.

Zuko isn’t alone.

“And, unless you can make a good argument, it’s also dinner.” they hear.

Zuko isn’t alone, and that is far, far from good.

She looks at Iroh, and Iroh looks at her.

“It… Really is, isn’t it?” she asks, through a throat that seems blocked, barely loud enough to be heard over her frantic thoughts.

“Yue, that is Azula.” Iroh explains. “I do not know why they are here, but they are. And she has Zuko.”

She knows they should, but-

“If he dies, he reveals the secret to whoever that is.” she says. “And that’s your niece. If she’s anything like what they say the Fire Nation royals are, then, Iroh, we’re all absolutely fucked.”

Yue should have bigger concerns, things to think about other than the expletives that come out of her mouth, yet she can’t help but reprimand herself for the strong language.

And another voice sounds. One like a child’s. Childish pitches, all but Azula’s. What is she doing with that many children?

“We’ll make this quick.” she says. “I’m gonna go, you stay here. She’s already tried killing you, and I don’t trust our odds. Come on, I’ll say Junior’s my pet bird.”

There’s a knife in her boot, a gift from Shun. Something borrowed, something that feels nice in her hands.

Something that briefly allows her hands not to tremble, before she slips it up her sleeve.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


Zuko isn’t sure of what his expectations were. However, they were very much _not that._

He didn’t know they were looking for him. Well, she _was_.

What did he expect to happen? What did he want to happen? Had he even wanted her to appear there, scared and shrunk in on herself.

He doesn’t feel like himself, he doesn’t feel like the world is fair enough or like the world is there enough and everything is _numb numb numb._

Yue’s face is contorted in worry, and she reaches out a hand, as if she could touch anything from that far from the camp.

“I’d heard my pet bird.” she says, the words ringing in her ears. “Seems you guys have caught him. Come on, Junior.”

Come on, repeats Yue’s mouth, quirked up in an anxious smile. All words ring on his ears.

“That’s my pet bird.” she says. “Come on, Junior.”

Her smile, merry and happy, her eyes sad and scared.

He attends to the call, tries to wring himself off of Azula’s hands. To her, he’s dinner. They’ll rejoin later, he tells himself.

(When he brings home the avatar.)

And he doesn’t want to know what that new Azula, that Azula that’s grown up and horrible and filled with hatred, would do if she knew what he was.

“Sure thing, come closer. I’m still scared this little guy is gonna run away.” Azula puts on a sweet voice, sounding almost - _nearly there, so_ _close_ \- like the child she is supposed to be.

And he looks at Yue, and they both know that something is wrong.

Zuko still wonders just how much of the situation she’s aware of.

But Yue comes closer, tentative little steps, sweet little smile. She has no other option.

He wonders how clearly Azula can see the one trick she has up her sleeve.

Her head cranks to the side. A subtle tension in her hands, the way her grip grows tighter around him.

“Hey, who’s the guy over there?”

  
  


-

  
  
  


The manacles - literal rock - weigh heavy, drag her down into a low bow.

That’s just what she wanted.

Yue didn’t even get to use her knife.

Iroh lays beside her, also forced down into a bow.

“That was… Surprisingly easy.” the small one says. “Didn’t expect them to _not_ put up a fight.”

Azula laughs, and she can hear the girl fighting against the attempt to pet her head.

Iroh looks up and smiles.  No danger. No _anything_. Plain, unassuming, like there's no danger to be found in the situation they're in.

Like he's a _fool_.

“It’s alright. I am quite old, indeed.” he says. “But I came here to make a deal.”

No they didn't, Yue thinks. Or, if they did, it wasn't something Iroh warned her of.

“You are in no place to make deals, General.” is the only response given by the princess.

“Well, I ought to explain the situation.” he shakes his head. “You - or at least Azula - probably know about the Siege of the North.”   
  


“And?” Azula asks, but something in her voice tells them “ _I know”._

“It failed.” Yue’s voice quivers. “I was one of the few people who managed to survive. Because La, the Ocean Spirit, fused with the Avatar and went on a rampage.”

“You want our help?” the too-smiley girl asks.

Azula laughs.

_ “No way.” _

“You are here for a reason.” Iroh says. “ _And_ , you also have my friend’s pet bird.”

“Oh, _this_ little thing?” she asks, and Zuko squawks in her arms. “I can give it back. But I can’t just let you free, Uncle. I have explicit orders to bring you home.”   
  


“And you won’t be able to take me back if the Ocean attacks your boat and sinks it.” he says “And I don’t think that, by the time we make it back, the Fire Nation will still be standing.”

“Why is that?”

“La is angry at your people.” Yue says. “And he won’t stop unless we convince him that his destruction isn’t worth it.”   
  


“... We can make a deal.” she says.

The manacles stay on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember that some people trim their birds' wings, and frankly, i'm not a bird owner, but when i had lilo (my little childhood companion, the biggest bastard stuck in the tiniest budgie body), my mom used to clip his wings, because look, a bird released into the wild wouldn't last long around here.
> 
> Like, there's a SHITLOAD of stray cats and dogs roaming around here, that's literally how we got a wholeass cat*, and those fuckers are HUNGRY and a bird is FUCKING FOOD TO MOST THINGS because your dog doesn't cook, linda, and it isnt opposed to eating feathers.
> 
> And please remember that this is a guy stuck in a bird's body. He isn't exactly morally keen on having a knife thrown at his wings for a REASON.
> 
> I know I don't have enough of a comment session for an argument, but look. just look at me. i've been working on this thing for nearly a week straight. i just. i don't want to have people scream at me because of a scene where a bunch of kids clip a bird's wings alright.
> 
> * the cat is the guy i might've mentioned, nicky the pissboy!


	11. The Tiniest Lifeboat (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively named: The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? stalling the climax?
> 
> hahaha-
> 
> more likely than you'd think!

The silent march.

Little soldiers walking to the battle.

A pair of manacled hands, encased in rock.

Fully enclosed. No chance of fleeing, no chance of firing a shot, of putting up a fight.

The world drifts by in a hazy blur, his spot on Uncle’s shoulder far from comforting.

There’s something in Zuko’s throat.

There’s something making him dizzy, the closer and closer they get to the ship. The smell of the flowers, the taste of the air, the blurry colors. It's all nauseating.

When he isn't human, the world seems somewhat artificial.

They’re all in danger, but that doesn’t register to his mind. It’s all blending together, countless colors, streams of sunlight streaming through the trees.

Flowers and rocks, vines and a beaten trail of dirt. Jaguar-spider spots in a dim orange.

Just because he doesn't want to do anything doesn't mean he's satisfied.

It’s just…

It’s all _numb_. Too bright yet too dull should mean just right, but it doesn't.

Eyes closed. He won't sleep, but the rocking of footsteps that aren't his is making his head spin.

In his mind, a part of him comes to Azula's defense. It breaks through manacles, grows from the dirt like a dandelion.

He shouldn't ever do that, but he justifies. They are leaves from the same vine, they are both bound by honor.

_ Right? _

The truce shall be obliged, or else-

Well, there won't be anything he can do. Not until the cycle comes around, until it all repeats again.

Temporary truce. Just that.

The attack looks over the horizon, almost more than the spirit, almost more than the curses.

He will panic, once the blanket of what happened falls over his back, swaddles him in uncertainty

But it’s all numb, it’s all hazy and his world tastes bitter and rancid.

He can feel his wings, plucked feathers a series of tiny ghost limbs.

It’s all temporary. The state he’s in, the truce they’ve made.

Does it matter, he wants to ask.

But he doesn’t.

He’s done all he could.

The nearly-lively world gives way to the plain of the beach.

No life to be seen. No fish-crabs skittering through the sand, no coconut-lobsters to be seen. Not a seagull-pelican, not a sea-tiger.

Silence.

Only heavy breathing, only the tense footsteps of the march.

He shakes his head, opens his wings. Closes them soon enough.

There’s nothing he can do. He can’t fly, he’s tried running away more than enough times.

But he is not human, even if he can’t be an animal quite yet either.

Zuko can’t help it. The want to fight, slowly coming back to him.

He can neither help with it nor act on it.

Front of the ship.

Decrepit wood.

It all looks so much older than it should now.

He wonders what Shun did to their ostrich-horses. Zuko will figure it out when they make dinner, he figures.

But more important than his flock, is the things he can’t predict.

A girl, arguing fervently.

“Fuck you, I’m not boarding this stupid ass ship.” she shakes her head, but her hands are trembling, giving away the uncertainty her voice won’t let out.

“But-”

“You guys can figure out how to untie his hands later.” a pint of despair. 

“Your contract isn’t done for.” Azula says, eventually. “And you wouldn’t want to leave without your payment, right?”

“And it will be fun!” Ty Lee smiles, wide and nearly true.

“No it won’t.” Mai drawls, something joking in her face. “Please leave before I have to pay you for forcing me to wash the dishes.”

“No way I’m leaving like that.” she shakes her head, grey eyes hidden. “Just pay me now, and I’ll figure a way back to the mainland soon enough.”

Her words ring safe enough, and yet, the despair is tasted in the air.

“No, you won’t.” are the final words in the argument.

Zuko’s sister is a beast that bides its time.

And she smiles, walks up to them. Relaxed, but somehow still ready to take them down, need be.

Azula doesn’t even bother to make her eyes look happy.

Perfect white teeth. 

The words blur together, the world blending around the edges.

And Uncle turns away, sighs and smiles. Says something about how he would offer her a hand in going aboard the boat, but can’t at the moment.

Dry laughter.

No hand that can lift up, poke him into wakefulness, back into the world.

_ Nothing. _

Before he can realize, Yue and Shun and the soldier-girls are on their boat.

He’s died plenty of times before.

Why is there a lump on his throat, something stinging at the back of his head?

Something like fear?

  
  
  


-

  
  


It’s the last stretch in that run, and yet, she can’t bring up any relief. Can’t make it so her breaths don’t come out forced, labored.

Hot puffs in the stuffy air. 

Sea breeze that smells all wrong.

Yue can’t make the numbness in her hands go away, can’t move from her spot, peering over the ocean.

The ever-encompassing father of the north.

Growing _angrier_.

Will they have to face any more of his children? His countless affairs, scattered all around the world. A million little currents and rivers, all their angry waves ready to envelop their little seashell boat.

Rising up, as they dive away from the last bits of sunlight, into a stream of grey-purples and dimmed-down oranges.

It’s the very last bit, the last of her tasks. 

The last stretch of the road, the most treacherous of them all.

Someone-something hops along. Little nails scratching at the floorboards.

Zuko stares up at her, golden eyes a familiar asymmetry.

How much of that stare is _really_ him?

Something about him feels a bit wrong. Like a neck, twisted just enough to snap at the joint.

“Hey, Junior.” she greets, her voice coming off hoarse and tired, from discussing terms and telling tall tales of narrow escapades. “You good over there?”

A hand reached out, no longer met with angry beaks or stares.

Just this animal-like look. No trust, no anger, no emotion.

When she touches his feathers, daunting just over the scar, he no longer radiates any kind of abnormal heat.

Maybe it’s just her mind.

Yue doesn’t want anything to do with her head anymore.

Suddenly, a little peck to a finger. Barely a nip, not enough to slice, more show than- well, whatever comes after that.

Just enough of it to remind her of what she’s meant to pretend, this time around.

“Alright, alright." She breathes out, lets her shoulders drop. "What are we gonna do? If I may ask for your advice, brave, smart little chicken boy."

The normal response. Little caw, registered absently by her head.

Sometimes, people feel nostalgic to the worst times of their lives. Like rafts and nights spent sleepless, waiting for the corpses to pile up again.

He climbs onto the railing, feathers ruffled.

“What are you going to do about this, chicken man?” she teases with half a mind to it.

But neither that nor the looming night can bring relief to either of them.

Hours savored in a shocked kind of silence, improvised candles burning in the pitch black of the night.

The heat does not wane, does not give in.

The silence does not recede, their newfound status as unannounced prisoners does not become more acceptable.

Not the night, not Azula’s little speech.

Nothing of that can bring them relief.

Silence grows around them, as curfew sets in for children and adults alike.

But even with heavy eyes, with stillness making her body sore, Yue can’t force sleep down her own throat.

Zuko’s eyes reflect an inordinate amount of light, yet remain expressionless.

With the night, she can hardly tell what is staring at them.

And yet, the silence has brought her enough confidence to speak out, like some cruel father’s unruly child.

“I don’t want you to die again.” she says. “But this is unavoidable.”

He shouldn’t have to go through all that, but Yue knows very well that sometimes, lives can be an affordable expense.

A shake of the head, a grimace hidden behind a mass of dry, white hair.

“Well- you’re part spirit.” she pulls at a knot, clumps falling into the water underneath, blown away by a breeze. “Zuko, I could send you to La. An offering. And you- you could try tricking him. Maybe I just haven't been sleeping enough.”

The spiral downhill led her to the bottom of the well, and that's where she will stay until finding a shovel.

But maybe it’s in her reach.

“I _could_ go along with you.” the realization comes, a quick blow to the back of her delirious little head. “I was spirit-blessed, at one point.”

The storm seems far away, but maybe Yue can reach it.

“I think I have a clue.” she smiles, but it feels dry. “Maybe I’m being an idiot, though. Always a possibility.”

A giggle.

“What are you talking about?”

She flinches, suddenly aware that she isn’t alone, in the nonexistent moonlight.

Footsteps half-silenced.

"Hi." She greets, not turning back. No need for retrospect to feel like a fool.

She could’ve been stabbed, for all she knew.

But the girl just sat beside her, hair still half-tucked into a braid.

Big eyes. Almost like those of a polar-bear puppy.

“Can I pet your bird?” she asks.

  
  


-

  
  
  


Days of tense silence, that even Zuko can detect.

There are no lies he can tell himself. There's no pretending he doesn't hate that.

Time trickling by like sand in a hourglass, a flock stunned into tense silence.

He sits, incapable of doing anything, of saying anything, of being anything.

Zuko's screams go unheard in the night, his sleeplessness all but unnoticed. He can't even visit Uncle, not anymore.

Broken. 

It all feels wrong, like a children's game rigged against him.

And in the breakfast table, while they all serve themselves just to sit on the floor, he can't keep himself unaware, can't force himself not to see it. 

The Avatar. The closest he's ever been, trusting and naive.

And yet, so very unreachable.

He can't be stopped from staring, and yet, the more he watches his prey, the more he realizes there is no reason to hunt.

The world has turned an eerie silence.

Clouds that never leave Agni a space to watch them, stuffy heat that keeps them all stagnant until further orders.

The lack of any hunger, any reason to keep fighting.

Tedium that stretches itself like a blanket upon the canvas, despite Azula's efforts to keep them working, to keep them going.

Shun and the boys barely even look at him. Don't ever even acknowledge Yue.

All they do is obey, all they do is plot in silence.

Uncle remains bound, the daylight stolen from him. He sits under the deck, with the rest of the supplies.

And the girls - they're as impatient as Zuko is.

Withering in the tiny stream of light the clouds let through.

As the days pass, it becomes evident, they're all equally impatient.

_ Wilting. _

That’s the word for them. All of them.

The avatar, much like him, doesn’t eat.

Once-bald little head now covered in a peach fuzz, no real attempt to shave it done. Under it, there is a tattoo.

He can't stay away from Azula. Not when she tries training him.

Chases him with fire, teases and mocks him. Familiar actions, that no longer feel like affection.

They had all lied to him, but he isn’t any happier because of it.

“Hey.” a hoarse voice, softened from screaming, forces his eyes open.

Enemy, enemy.

“You didn’t eat today, buddy.” the boy says, efortfull but still exhausted. “Come on, can’t save the world on an empty stomach.”

He blabbers out the words in a way that seems very, very forced. Sentences struggled through by a child. A mortal child, who isn't used to being human.

And suddenly, he knows. That's a child. 

A realization hitting him like a shock-wave. The Avatar is a child, a child whom, unlike Zuko, needs his sleep.

That's just enough to set him onto motion.

A hop to the floor, the fall never harsh enough to hurt.

He's still prey, he's still enemy. It's just a truce, a truce nobody has any business with.

Bites at a pant leg, pulling the fabric. Stand up, coward, he wants to say.

But his mouth is busy, and so are his half-healed wings, flapping as he pulls and _pulls_.

“What are you doing?” the boy sounds amused. 

The Avatar should be terrified.

He is his greatest enemy, his end, the beginning of a new era.

That's why he's making the boy sleep.

It’s not out of kindness, it’s not out of affection. Quite the contrary, if you ask him. 

But that boy will save his flock. That boy will keep them all safe, someday.

That boy may never take Zuko home, but he will serve a purpose.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Tense shoulders forced down, fearful eyes closed. Brow forced into neutrality, back let off from the constant ramrod-straightness.

In Ty Lee's owl-like eyes, shines the desire to do something with all their time.

Their prisoner is being talked to, down the deck.

The truce is still up.

Yue has to be nice, has to be Ming.

“You want to braid my hair?” shy and sweet, voice soft. 

Be an _actress_ , she tells herself.

Like you're telling a story in front of the tribe. You have to make it believable, for new and old alike.

It's what you were always meant to be, she tells herself. Tries to make the role something she can fit in.

An evolutionary niche, filled for once.

“Yeah!” Ty Lee smiles, teeth stark white against her sunburnt face. 

“It’s falling out.”she says, illustrating by pulling out a grey strand, clumped up like cat-sheep yarn that wasn’t spun properly. "Are you sure you want to mess with it?"

"A braid would still look really good, though.” in her voice, there's nothing forced, nothing strained. 

If there's anything she can admit to, it's that the girl is a master of her own trade.

A hand lent, a sigh forced out.

Settles onto the position, feels the hot wood burn against her legs, despite the lack of any sunlight.

Before her eyes are closed, shut off from the world, a scuffle is heard.

A snort let out at the sight of the little event.

Zuko - bird-bodied, feathered old Zuko, like back in the ship - tries to pull Aang by his pant leg, clearly leading him towards the sleeping bags.

There's no interfering to be done. Just watching, as a comb is taken to her hair.

Push and pull, pull and push. Her hair, a boy’s leg, the chains dragging on the ground when Iroh tries walking about.

-

  
  
  
  


A dream, blooming in deep blue and lilac. 

Clouds swirling in a twilight sky, just waiting for him to dive through their fluffly masses. Pinks still visible in the horizon, like the sun isn't long gone.

Stars, peering through the world. Thousand little eyes watching him fly all over the world.

It's beautiful. It feels like he can reach it all, like he can touch, like he can taste it.

It's just wonderful enough to set him off, to say that something is wrong.

Because what world could be that at peace?

What world could have him, flying over the ocean, yet still feeling human?

But he doesn't want to think. He doesn't want to see it, to see the truth.

He doesn't want to do anything but watch.

Sunken volcano, magma turned to obsidian, still setting luminescent over the remains of an island.

The remains of a fleet of warships.

Countless ones, destroyed. But not a body to be seen, not a scream to be heard.

Nothing to set him off from above. Nothing to make him feel like coming down.

**It's the worship of war,** something mutters deep in the world, entrenched in the roots of the earth, coursing in the rivers, marrying the night sky at the horizon’s line.

“What?” his voice comes out, a familiar raspy breath distorted by something inhuman’s throat.

**Worship** , it says, a chant of countless voices. **Your pebble-people lack that.**

A language he shouldn’t understand, but that falls upon his back like a well-worn cloak.

He shouldn’t get it, it shouldn’t come off naturally to him.

But it feels like it’s been so very long since his voice had last been heard. He can't keep himself from speaking out, not when he's out in the open, not when his armbands have long since been untied.

“They don’t.” his argument comes out weak.

The clouds loom a bit closer.

A storm is brewing, the beauty of the stars hiding behind it. Cowering, because all the spirits know what comes next.

“Just a few of them- They worship our nation more than they worship the spirits. They're the minority- my people don't have to suffer because of them.” he tells. “It’s not their fault. Uncle said nurture is a powerful beast.”

A warm laugh.

**Say your own words, my dear. Say them and maybe I’ll believe you.**

And that’s how he wakes up.

He's awake only to long for the sky, to beg and plead for himself to be able to take flight, to get close to the storm.

When he's barely awake, he can almost touch them. 

The tempest is brewing, encircling them.

But it lacks the bite. It never rains, it never does anything.

It's letting them pass.

It - **he** \- wants to be reached. Wants to play with them.

Unseeing, yet unblinking. Nothing but the howling wind to greet them.

None of the current’s children, nothing of the world outside the redome.

Before long, he is fully himself, fully back to the world. As the morning paints the sky pale greys and blues, he hops atop Yue's shoulder.

Cawed questions that go unanswered.

Over and over again. 

They’re getting closer.

Closer and closer.

Ever so close.

And he doesn’t think that that’s good.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


It's in the way the earthbending one sits beside Yue, after dinner, before curfew. That used to be the time for tea, back before the truce.

Half of a collapse, something about her screaming of dea-sickness, nearly turning to an ocean-driven madness.

There are no berries to feed her dizzy head, when it lolls onto Yue’s shoulder, the owner of it letting out a loud groan.

That makes her flinch, but there's no response. Only a breath that smells like rancid vomit, meeting her face just to make her nose wrinkle.

“Fucking bastards.” the girl, half-asleep, mutters. “Why did I agree to this again?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know you either.” she says, a Ming with honesty. “I think that you have a reason, I just don’t know what that is, I suppose.”

A head lifted up at her. Cheeks chubby with baby fat that doesn't look like it's about to disappear anytime soon, big eyes half-lidded and red-rimmed.

In the moonlit sky, she doesn't look all that grimy.

Small as a snail, grimy as a child.

They’re all children, she realizes. All of them.

Children, heading into a spirit’s deathbed.

“I’m Toph.” she says. “Toph Beifong, the Blind Bandit. Best earthbender, _ever_. But I hate the sea.” 

A little smug grin, that somehow accentuates the realization.

There's a thousand questions she wants to ask. A thousand truths she begs to hear, but none she can ask for as Ming.

The girl might already know the lie, but she won't be handed the truth so easily.

“Where does Bandit come from?” she asks, instead. Information is important. Information that doubles as a talking point, even more. “The name, but you too.”

“I’m from Gaoling.” she says, sounding like she's proud of it. “But my name comes from-”

Silence. Thoughtful, forgetful. Half from sleep.

“It sounds cool.” she compliments. “Really, really cool.”

“Of course.” she preens. “I _have_ to sound cool. I’m gonna be a pro wrestler.”

“Earthbending or normal?” Yue-Ming asks, goading the conversation to go on.

The Toph is small, but quite sturdy-looking. Earthbending is the most physical of the bending forms, and it requires strong musculature, in order to perform the proper stances.

Especially if that prodigy - and she isn’t anything else, really - is as good as she claims to be. 

As she’s _shown_ herself to be, Yue corrects herself.

The girl is dangerous.

There’s no denying that, there’s no pretending she’s anything else.

“I see with my earthbending.” she says. “And I use it to fight people, even if I can punch them without it. Can't be a one-trick siriema-pony.”

The unasked-for, possibly uncalled, demonstration is a punch to Yue's face.

“ _That_ was supposed to be your shoulder.” she says. “Do you have a nose on the shoulder?”

“Not really.” Yue-Ming says. “You’re forgiven… For now. How well can you see in the ship?”

“Not very.” the girl eventually admits. "Even when it's on the dirty side, it's really hard. I think that metal would be easier, but _well_ -"

“Alright.” Yue nods. “It’s okay. I can help you around.”

“Don’t pity me.”

“It’s not pity, offering good things to other people.” Yue tells her, with a poke to the shoulder. “Especially if it’s something giving you trouble, you know.”

The enemy is a child, dirty and with chubby cheeks.

A child, who holds her hand and lets herself be helped, no words said, when nobody’s looking.

The enemy is a child.

  
  
  


-

  
  


In his dreams, he speaks. It's the only way he can know he's dreaming, before the voices start up.

He’s always flying closer and closer to the sea.

Blood red waves, a booming hive's buzzing in his head.

Like wasp-flies he can't swat away.

The narrowly dodged lapping of the waves, angry hands of the killer sea.

**I could rid you of your fire,** little bird, they say, caresses reaching up. **You'd never have to come back. You could have your time end.**

A legion of them. Unending voices, echoes out of synchrony, a flurry of cries and laughter, taunts and compliments.

Growing so loud his head hurts, so loud he falls closer and closer to the waves.

**You would never burn anyone the way you were burned.**

“Shut up.” he always says, voice a croak, a shallow shell of who he once was.

**You could be free.**

"Shut up!"

**You could be human again.**

_ "SHUT UP!" _

Before he can ever get an answer, a rebuttal, a taunt even, he jolts up into wakefulness.

But being away from his dreams is no relief.

It's like being cooked alive, at every little moment, every second.

Neither the constant plucking of his feathers nor shallow dishes of water can sate him, can help him.

Something about the heat waves feel unnatural. Intentionally so, almost.

The sun never peeks from behind the clouds, locked forever away due to La’s storm. 

And yet, the rain never comes to their aid.

The sea is yet to drive any of them mad enough to dive into its mass, but that doesn't mean there's not an attempt being done.

As they approach the storm, its slowing progression doesn’t make the heat any lesser.

Something is very, very wrong.

It's something they all realized from the beginning.

But now, that was a sign.

That was intentional.

Left for them to find, to gasp and to gawk.

_ (to feast) _

There are fish floating above the water, burnt flesh, stewed by the sea.

  
  


-

  
  


It's far from a feast, but their food supplies are running short.

The trip is taking longer than anticipated.

The fish came as a blessing, disguised as a warning.

Zuko ravages through his portions, swallowing entire bits. But Yue doesn't think anyone else can make themselves do much more than swallow down the unpleasant taste.

It's just-

She shouldn't refuse a spirit's blessing, but that food tastes wrong.

There's no other way she can describe it, other than just-

_Wrong_.

They flake the wrong way, when she pulls meat from ribs and bones. When Shun butchers them, there’s no blood or juice.

The taste is dry, bitter, not the sour of flesh gone rancid.

Nothing would dare to rot around here, something tells her.

Yue is Ming during the days, and Ming says nothing of spirit matters, Ming just sticks close to her pet bird and to her newfound friends.

She lets Ty Lee play with her hair, and she lets Mai show her each and every knife she has.

When nobody is looking, the girl lets Toph cling to her arm, helps her get a grip of the ship’s terrain.

In her mind, their alliance is like a thin sheet of ice.

But betraying the frail trust she'd gotten, right now, wouldn't be favorable.

She wants to cut down her losses, afterall.

And thus, the trust shall be kept, hung onto for as long as she possibly can.

And so, she lets her shoulders sag and sink around them, makes herself smile in a way that's nearly genuine.

And yet, she knows - they all do - that there's no hiding it.

It’s in her face, that she doesn’t think this will go over well.

“ _Woah_ , Ming.” Ty Lee says one evening, hairbrush coursing through Yue’s hair.

“I know, it’s ruined.” she sighs.

Not fully fallen, not yet. She feels l ike she's an aging man.

Like someone dying from a waterbender’s treatment. The inner kind of sickness, the one that not even Master Yugoda can keep from affecting people.

“ _No, no.”_ the girl reassures. “It’s gonna grow back in. See? It's already coming back up, even though it's black.”

“Hair shouldn’t be the priority.” Mai drawls. “Stop being boring, you two, and _grow up_. Go mop the deck, or something.”

“No, thanks.” Yue says, and Ty Lee giggles.

Little nails scratching at her itchy scalp, as she lets herself relax in the girl’s lap.

Her back hurts, from days sleeping in the deck with little to keep her comfortable. It’s relieving, even through the smell of sweat and of unwashed grime.

Days of sea-sickness permeating them, the rank mostly gone ignored.

She lets her shoulders down, tries to get things to leave her mind. False little smile, even as strands are pulled and fall.

“You can cut it.” she eventually says. “Right? It’s falling out either way, might as well leave it short.”

The hands stop.

She feels eyes on her, but does not dignify anything with contact.

“I don’t care. It will grow back, soon enough.”

“I’m not a great hairdresser, though.” Ty Lee says. 

“Then practice a bit. Just rough chop, it will be easier than having to pull it off every day.”

Knives, warm laps.

Orange clouds swimming through the sky, swirly grey strands sinking into the empty ocean.

  
  
  


-

  
  


After the nightmare.

Chest heaving, ocean laughing at him from beneath.

He's locked away from all comfort, when she comes around.

Azula, holding a plate.

Perfectly organized bits and pieces of fish, crispy skin from their roasted seagull now soggy from the dashi broth it's swimming on..

The delivery is by a steady hand and a face that doesn't look at him directly.

“Why?” he wants to ask her, eyes all too heavy to stay open for all that much longer, stomach full of nothing and yet free of hunger.

But he is not human, and he does not speak.

“Don’t look at me like that, filth.” she says, order calmly whispered.

Something in her eyes makes her look like what she really is.

Just a kid.

Yet she isn’t, not like Aang, not like Gang and Hong, even when her makeup is long gone from her face, even when there are bits of sunburnt skin in the back of her neck.

Something in him remembers her as his sister.

Still a nestling, in his head. The little girl who pushed him around, teased him and visited him in the medical wing whenever he managed to sprain a wrist.

He reaches his beak, half-expecting her to lash out, to burn him.

Yet, she doesn’t.

“Why are you animals so trusting?” she eventually asks. "You were clearly burned before. You're really dumb."

Her hair is plastered to her head, greasy strands of pitch.

Yet, her eyes are as focused as ever.

A hand reaches out to him, and he flinches.

“Good.” she says, as if reassuring herself. "Not that much of an idiot."

A thousand questions he wants to ask, amidst bites of underseasoned food, that came so close to tasting like home.

“I’m setting a bad precedent.” she says. “But you must trust me, dumb-dumb.”

He gives her an incredulous look, shot back with a smirk.

He wonders if she knows.

Logically, she ought to.

Does she remember him? Their last encounter, his second death?

Zuko never thinks things through. He should run, he should hide, he should-

“Soon enough.” she sighs. “Insanity will take over us. Can't you see, how I'm talking to you?”

Her stomach rumbles, barely audible, not acknowledged.

She needs more than just talking to, though.

Azula's lucky she isn't a fire-lily, but not being a flower means having to eat.

Survival is always possible, as long as there’s air to burn through. But thriving-

No, _never_.

To thrive, fire needs more than just air to burn through.

So, he nudges a piece of fish towards her.

He is her brother, afterall. She isn’t his Azula anymore, but it’s still his duty to watch over her.

And Azula looks at him, all too knowing yet so much like the little child Zuko once knew. Years had carved the two of them into separate beasts, in body and mind alike.

But perhaps there was still something to do.

A fight before desistance.

"No, thanks." she says, waving off his offer.

A caw.

And she looks like she's about to caw back, for a brief second. 

Then, there's a piece of fish, taken before he can shove it down her throat.

Because Zuko’s ship is full of children.

  
  
  


-

  
  


The stars above her stare down, spirits laughing up in their little world, watching the havoc, the stupidity of their humans.

She misses being able to move around freely, to at least drink some tea, to do anything at all.

Now, all is risky. 

To her, it all feels tense, uncomfortable. 

Yue can’t do anything about it but whine in her own head.

During the night, sleeplessness is her only companion. Ty lee's little girlfriend sprawls as lazy as a cat beside her, and she can almost feel the tips of knives poking at her with each snore.

There’s no hope for sleep.

Especially not when someone moves and shifts and disturbs.

She’s ready to hush and shush, before she realizes-

Someone’s speaking.

And with a strained ear, out she hears.

“Hey, birdie.” a familiar little voice, a soft croon, barely carried over by the wind. “What you doing?”

“I don’t need any food, don’t worry.” Toph says. “I just can’t sleep right now.”

_ “I know, I know.”  _

“I’m _seasick_ , dumb bird. I don’t need your-”

And suddenly, Yue can think straight. Because she can very well recognize the sound of Zuko shoving food down someone’s throat.

And that makes her snort.

“No words about it, shitass.”

Maybe not the smartest decision, but she smiles nonetheless.

“Not a word said.” before she realizes. “Wait, did he puke _into_ your mouth or-”

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


When he opens his eyes, he is floating in a beautiful, cool sea.

A body that refuses to move. A tangled net of arms and wings, of ash and grime washed away by the water.

The saltwater hands drip off of countless wounds.

A million battles, all fading off with a gentle caress.

**A cleanse,** something tells him. Half a voice, half a chant. 

The voices almost sound like a single one now.

Hands sift through a feather-filled hair, wet, slimy fingers coursing through his scalp.

Countless nails of ice, scratching at his head.

When his eyes finally manage to look up, the sky is red.

Smoldering.

Plumes of smoking drifting upwards, clearly sulfuric, even though he can’t smell it.

And the horizon-

It’s burning.

The world is burning - treeline in the horizon, up in flames, smoke curling in the air all around him.

And yet, he is cold in the grasp.

Clean, and cold. So cold it stings.

But there are no screams. There is no crying, there is no laughing, there is not a word said.

There’s no chanting in his head.

But then, the voices break free, no longer imprisoned inside his mind.

All around him, louder and louder, as the grasp grows tighter and tighter.

Their sounds blending together into mush.

Words smeared together, like ink in a drawing, disturbed far too soon.

Hands all over him, weights sinking him down.

But he's yet to drown.

**Don’t you want to _see_ it all?** they ask him.

**Let him burn the way he burned you** , they say.

The words hurt, sting like the poisoned saltwater, but they’re growing _weaker_.

**Let them all burn.**

Weaker and weaker.

**Come with us** , whisper the hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

Plumes of smoke in the sky, now growing blurrier and blurrier as he sinks down, down and down.

**Burn with us** , the hive offers.

Hive.

That’s the word, an irrelevant epiphany.

The hive is growing weaker, even if he’s still sinking.

The realization comes with a voice, louder than any of those.

**You’re right, and we both know that,** booms all over him, breaking through his head, sending pangs of hot white pain through his temples. B **ut you can help us avenge my beloved.**

His mouth opens, a rebuttal on his tongue, and the ocean is in.

Choking him. No, no-

_Drowning_ him.

**I can spare your innocent, you know,** says the ocean, as he tries spitting out hot-hot-hot water.

His insides are boiling.

It’s the only way they can come **alive**.

The hands are dragging him under. Pulling him down, holding him back with claustrophobic strength, that keeps him from moving, that keeps him from even twitching-

  
  


…

  
  
  


**Are you convinced yet?**

  
  
  


-

  
  


Down the deck.

Their prisoner stands there, in the dark, a flower wilting on its spot away from the sun.

They’re all supposed to be asleep, but nonetheless, as she climbs down the stairs, Yue watches everything.

The fear of a sound, the breath held down like a restrained pickpocket.

Step after step.

Cautious and slow.

Blue eyes peering around every corner, but always met with the same thing.

_ Loneliness. _

Lately, she can't ever get a hold of Zuko during the nights.

She knows he ought to be somewhere, but she can’t risk seeking him out at the moment.

Sleep is a fickle beast, for seasick children.

Yue doesn’t wish to disturb it. Them,

Down the stairs.

Through the depths of her mind.

Iroh sits down there, hands still stuck in a man-made boulder.

He’s lucky they didn’t get them crushed, really.

“Hello.” she greets, her soft whisper sounding like an owl's screech in her head.

Yue can’t even see him flinch, in the pitch black of the cell.

Nonetheless, she sits down in front of him. The familiar smell of a prisoner no longer overwhelming, no longer dizzying.

Closes her eyes, tries to pretend she isn’t blind to other people's minds.

Lets the whispers spill out of her mouth, word by word, only sound breaking through the beat of her heart.

“I have a plan to stop La.” she tells him, no greeting needed.

A smile on his voice.

“I can’t say I’m not glad to hear that, Young Yue. May I be in?”

There’s no joke for her.

“I am offering myself and Zuko to him. To join him. The others, too.”

The words slip out dirty.

Her heart wants to come out of her throat.

“I see.” but he doesn’t.

“We’ll trick him into disbanding it. I’ll try- I’ll try to pretend I can still hear Tui. Something like that. Something to make him stop.”

  
  


“How do you know you’ll succeed?” his voice is filled with worry, with fear, dirty and vulnerable.

Silence.

Yue is going to _die_.

She knows she won’t come out of this alive.

But it’s a sacrifice she’s okay with doing.

“I don’t.” she admits. “But Zuko _will_ come back.”

“You will too.” he says, words comforting, trusting.

“It’s alright.” she tells. “I- I have to do something.”

“I wish you good luck on your endeavor, my friend.” 

Iroh smiles.

“I brought in some tea.” she says. “It- It’s not hot, but I got Shun to give me extra sugar.”

She wasn't able to get her hands on a single portion of food. Not even the jerky Azula had ordered them to make, out of their ostrich-horses.

But for once, she won’t mind helping.

“Reach it over - I can show you an useful trick.” Iroh smiles in the dark, something desperate in his voice.

It’s just one last time.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


The sea boils - splashes of it fall on his face, feel like fire -, the fish float, half-cooked, on the surface.

He feels feverish.

Like he's yet to break through, like infection still courses through him.

It's something in the sulfuric, rancid rank of the air. The plumes of steam, billowing out there. It makes it so he can't breathe.

The people float in the sea still. Red skin, cooked like lobsters. Their bodies twisted and bent, like they're all nothing but toys, discarded by a child after the end of playtime.

Vacant eyes, dried out inside their sockets, yet somehow still watching.

Flabby skin, pale like that in a stew.

But something floats above all the disaster.

A thousand eyes, blinded by anger. A thousand mouths, screaming long since turned hoarse.

And Zuko, finally jolting into wakefulness.

It’s the last stretch in the run, he reminds himself, a body-that's-not-his trembling, as his senses come back to him. Agonizingly slow, yet still too fast.

It's their last night, he tells himself.

They just have to set it up.

The raft.

Just for one human. Tiny planks of wood, crates of the girls, now repurposed into their only escapade. 

He can't help her.

He should just watch, be less obnoxious.

But since when does he do what he should?

Soft croons, no screaming, no cawing. 

Feathers puffed up in curiosity, ruffled further by a trembling hand.

An animalistic part of him urges to go away, to fly off in a way he hasn’t been able to in an eternity.

And thought is all that it takes, for their weeks in the ship feel like forever. Like a thousand lineages, like a million lords and ladies, like all those lives they swam past.

Zuko's about to leave it behind, the endless blur of the days, of the stuffy smoke and the suffering, of the cursed dreams and the voices in the sea.

But then, a sound comes through.

A song of footsteps.

Creaking in the floorboards.

“What are you doing, Ming?” Azula asks, something in the way she says the name sounding like she already knows of their lies.

But there's no way she does.

Azula always lies, Azula always bluffs.

Zuko isn't a little boy anymore, he can't just pretend his sister can see it all, can know it all.

He’s- He’s far too worn out for that. Like a toy, wasted away by the world's games.

He’s far too tired to think. He just wants to walk through the motions, he just wants to sleep it all away, he just wants to lose himself to an ocean.

It’s all so tempting now.

“Hello, Princess.” Yue smiles, like she wasn’t just transforming crates into a raft, like she wasn’t just about to go away with the rising sun.

Let Agni guide them, for Tui no longer can.

“What are you doing?” Azula repeats.

“A sacrifice.” Yue says. “I- I must. I must go.”

“It’s not a sacrifice if it’s just what you want to do.” A smile, sly and slimy.

Azula looks like a flower. Planted away from the sun, twisted and bent, stretching leaves and tiny stems towards a sun she could never hope to reach.

“I don’t want to die, but I will, if I need to.”

“Stop speaking like that.” Azula huffs. “Tell the truth. Are you just trying to flee your duty?”

“I have a plan.” Yue confides. “I’ll try to convince La to stop his rampage, before he decimates other people, the way his own died by his hand.”

“Why do you think you can do that?” she sounds downright amused. "Sorry to inform you, but you're only human."

Teeth with no real sharpness, but the bark is already enough of a bite.

“ _Because_.” Yue starts. “Tui blessed me when I was born. The moon-mother may have died, but a part of her lives in me.”

_“So sacrificial._ ” she sounds like she’s about to laugh, and something about that makes Zuko want to bite, want to snap, want to _feed_ just so she _shuts up._

“No more than what’s needed.” Yue says, tying together the last of their supplies.

Rice and dried-out plums. Scavenged nuts - the few that haven't gone rancid - and a few idli.

Lefttover ostrich-horse meat. Cured into a too-salty, underseasoned jerky.

Maybe not the best diet for your average koi, but spirits tend to eat words more than goods.

Either way, they are offerings, for when the time comes.

“I won’t fight you.” Azula smiles. "Not about this."

“Thank you.”

“Bring your little Junior back, alright?”

Eyes on him.

Predatory gold in the dim lamp's light.

"It's my turn to make an offer, though." Azula says. "I understand we may have to leave the others behind, but I think I can help you reach your little goal."

Fire in her hands.

  
  



	12. The Angry Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first story i've actually finished
> 
> EDIT, 2021 QUEASY - I didn't like this, so I'm editing it once more, just to like, possibly make it NOT A NIGHTMARE TO READ.
> 
> I don't want any work published that isn't something I am proud of! I don't really care that like - people can see that I've improved, because I want my stuff to be enjoyable NOWWWWW and i want it BETTER THAN LAST TIME
> 
> AKA I am sending this a fuck-you and editing it once more.
> 
> And then again.
> 
> And no, I cant be stopped, for I am freshly caffeinated and have built up a tolerance to my own storytelling.

Streaming through the clouds, bits of white light bathe the world a sickly gray.

Aang’s no firebender, and he needs no control to his breath, he needs nothing but the affirmation, the voice of safety calling back.

“Ming?” he asks around. “Ming, where are you?!”

Wet floorboards reflect the dim violet sky, as clouds hide away the blooming sunrise.

The rope is gone from its spot, and so are some of the supply crates.

The deck is empty.

Aang’s heart thunders in his chest, as he lashes about, calls out for Ming.

The nightmare’s yet to fade away fully, his hands tremble in front of him.

A part of him misses the safety of unconsciousness, of fading minds blended together.

He wonders who kept what he once was.

He wonders if it’s retribution, that he’s now all alone.

Dawn is breaking through the clouds, tinting the gray-blue sky a bloodied orange.

The eye of the sun dares not shine through, the tears of rain dare not fall upon them.

Aang’s searches for the friendly cold shoulder prove fruitless.

No sweetly apathetic eyes found, as the angry sea lashes against the wood, propels the boat away.

Are the hands reaching for him?

Hands reaching up at him, hands from underneath.

The drowned ones, coming to get him.

Aang shudders, reminds himself of what he is.

He is the Avatar.

And nothing bad is going to happen in his sight, right?

He smiles through the wrench in his gut, through the dizziness in his head.

There is no way that is not a prank, there is no way his friend really has gone away like that.

(Like someone else?

Like him, perhaps?

You went away, you came back, screamed the mass.

You will save us, you will bring us, you will destroy us.)

But his footsteps are weak, his heart is set in an answer that isn’t there.

And the deck is all empty around him. His lips are dry and his heart beats out the rhythm, wrong wrong wrong.

His eyes are wide, the realization is coming all too strong.

Because the boat is missing.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


Their breaths are drowned, their punctured lungs fused together.

There is no bridge, nothing to give them a solid direction, nothing to truly bind them.

The emulsion is regaining its consciousness.

Blubber and shredded muscle, ligaments attached at the wrong places.

Broken bones jut from the angry sea, exposed organs and wounds alike splashed by the saltwater that once protected them.

Their cause is only a dimmed-down anger, their guide as blind as they are.

His fury propels them nonetheless, makes them swim and keeps them moving. Opens their cuts into gills, ties bones to teeth and eyes to feet.

Their goal slowly turns into an obligatory obsession.

But it is still reachable.

It’s the only thing they can hang onto.

For, as far as any of them can feel, pulsating in their agony, their screams blocked by newfound limbs and masses, there is nothing but the ocean.

Nothing but La, their once-revered spirit.

La, and the hollow husk of the moon.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


They drift through an eerie, empty escape.

The sea is not something Azula will ever grow quite used to.

She breathes in the smell. 

Salt and sickness, something wrong. Gone off. Like rotting fish.

Sea and sky alike are a dead gray, all too still.

The movement of their raft is hardly noticeable.

An absurdly stagnant sea, still somehow pushing them forward. Agonizing slowness, both deliberate and weak-willed.

Something guides them, pulls them closer.

They do not trust it.

Sleep comes in turns, when exhaustion grows too much.

Right at that moment, Ming’s chest rises and falls, ribs protruding clearly through her thin shirt. 

Bones begging to be broken.

Dark skin clamoring for the claim of time, for the destruction under fire’s steady hand.

The dark skin, begging to be marked by time, to be destroyed below her hand.

The trust of her back, facing Azula.

And the eerie golden eyes of the bird, watching her.

Its too-wide mouth, its too-large eyes.

Golden yellow, unnaturally reflecting her face. One of them squints at her, marked with a hand of dishonor.

Azula doesn’t pay much mind to the familiarity.

She watches it back, lets the world pass them by.

Driving them deeper and deeper into the nothing.

The nowhere where her ship once sunk, the nowhere beyond which her crown lies, awaiting patiently for her.

Time hasn’t changed them much, she tells herself.

It hasn’t.

She is just doing what must be done, in times such as those.

Breaths, in and out.

Salt mixes with sweat.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

She has known control since her first gasp of air, since the first time she’s opened her eyes to hazel-brown coldness.

There is not an ounce of movement.

Just the way the sea steadily guides the raft.

But, in the eye of the empty hurricane, it’s not difficult to notice bits of change.

It comes with the figure in the distance, less and less blurry.

Her face is expressionless, neutral until the smell comes to them.

Nauseating.

Rotting flesh, eaten away. Wounds doomed to never close, dried copper and a twinge of sick sweetness.

And with it, the recognition, coming before she can even really recognize the thing.

The sea has left them an offering.

A dilacerated mass of hands and torsos, eyes and teeth.

A beaten-in pulp of something that was once not one, but many human beings.

The bird screeches, before she can rouse Ming from her sleep.

The lump beside her- soft warmth and the smell of filth, pepper-and-salt hair - stirs up, and then jumps.

“Azula, what-”

“Look.” she says, her voice far too confident for the situation.

The dead mass’ face is tilted up by a gentle wave.

It’s overtaken by a still-pulsating hole, filled with milk teeth and writhing maggots.

An offering.

A threat, more than anything else.

( Or maybe a gift, whispers the back of her mind. )

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


The decision is not quick, is not swift.

It’s made as the sun rises up high in the sky, as everyone surrounds his hyperventilating form, dissipate one by one at his nonresponse.

Aang wants to run.

Aang has to run.

But when he bends and doesn’t break, the sea moves with him.

And when he breathes in deep, his breaths come as puffs of wind.

There is no earth and there is no fire anywhere he can see, anywhere he can reach.

There is just his hollow bones and the muscle memories of someone who once mastered the greatest art.

There is just the trails of a hand that had rested on his shoulder, of a strict, mean instructor and a bird that would always try to force food down his throat.

And Aang couldn’t do anything but drift away, create a raft of ice, warmed through by his heart, and sail off.

Against all his instincts.

Against all that tells him to run, all who tell him to come back.

Because Aang did that.

And it’s his destiny to stop it.

To go back to the only place he remembers, to the pulsating masses of his people, his little survivors.

They’d left him a living metaphor, as the sea disintegrated all of them, re-built their bodies and minds into something they were never supposed to be.

He remembers the tales, woven deep into the back of his mind. Of how spirits would break through people’s bodies, melt and fuse them together like dysfunctioning tools.

He doesn’t want to go back. A part of him wants to cry at the thought, at the no-longer-intact people.

But he knows he’s ready.

He knows what he has to do.

His role to play, his deed to do.

If he can’t, he will rest knowing someone else will be able to.

Deep breaths, puffs of wind.

The sea dares not go against him.

He just beckons him closer.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


What is the word she looks for?

Katara isn’t even sure of how she feels.

Is it melancholy? Is it some brand of agony?

Some kind of nostalgia, for a time that never truly was?

The moon shines high in the sky, her grayish shape obscured by the clouds.

The air is all too warm and stuffy.

A part of her wants to ignore the lingering wrongness, the smell of something gone off.

The eerie silence is filled by the laughing sea, his waves lapping against rocks and shipwrecks under them.

It tries to reach the bison, the all-encompassing waves.

If she closes her eyes, she can pretend that there isn’t the certainty of failure, if she lets down the knife in her hands, she can pretend that peace’s still a possible answer.

The push and pull is not how it should be.

Tui slowly comes full, rises up to become a dead thing’s open eye.

Katara’s breath catches on her throat, before she reminds herself of the way the moon shines gray but not red.

Of how no screaming fills the air, no smell of crumbled concrete and corpses.

She reaches out a hand, feels the comforting warmth of Sokka, his soft snores and dry hair.

A reminder that she isn’t all alone, on her own against the world.

They are cut down, weakened but not all gone.

Tui is coming full, slowly rising up into the open eye of a dead creature.

She shakes her head, as he babbles barely-formed words.

“Shut up, Yue. Stop being silly.” he says, barely clear enough to be heard.

She resists the urge to do something to shut him up.

Katara shakes her head, turns to play with the sewing needles.

The blessing of a waterbender extends for more than just the control of their element.

It also allows her to see in the dark, to do untidy stitches and shoddy embroidery.

She isn’t sure of what she’s supposed to make out of the world, out of its sudden bizarre nature.

Under her, the beckoning chant of the sea.

Come closer, come closer to the tribe long gone, she imagines it saying.

Bend for me, it asks and commands at the same time.

The world is enticing, tempting.

The exhaustion drives her mad, turns her head into a dizzy, spinning mass.

Katara can’t help the twinge of jealousy, for her brother can still sleep.

His slumber is interrupted by nightmares more often than not, but he still has a chance.

He doesn’t have the sea, screaming in his ears.

The moon’s too-long silence, the hollow feeling of disharmony.

She shakes her head, pretends her mouth doesn’t pull into a grimace.

Katara looks up at the sky.

The clear skin of the clouds, the blind eye of the moon-mother.

Her head shakes, her mouth begs to pull into a grimace.

The sea sings under her.

Katara can’t bother to sing back.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  
  


The masses writhe. 

  
  


Their rebellion kills them one by one, as their deformed bodies twist and turn, pull away from the mass just enough to become unable to continue.

  
  


They bite at pieces of themselves, they rip away limbs and torsos.

The anger united them, for a time.

But to some, as consciousness returns, the cause now rings hollow.

Their minds awaken to the agonizing pain, one by one.

La was never lost, La was never able to leave the feeling away.

He pushes grief away, chases the wicked sun’s people, but slows down.

The moon-child approaches.

She is a walking memory, she is anger and grief and love.

Her slow breaths, the false-softness of her words.

Despicable and beautiful, adored and destructible.

Bringing along her offering, cradled close to her chest.

A slave of the sun, a vermin who thinks itself to be greater than life, riddled with blue warmth, guides them along.

But there shall not be a single sign, a bit of rebellion.

There shall not be anything but La’s hands, guiding them. He is a spirit and he is more, he is both lesser and greater than any evil.

Any other evil, they whisper, tied to him.

Awareness returns, rebelion surges.

They are a tragedy waiting to happen.

That, they know.

There are no mouths to say it, there is no time for tears to fall.

But even as they agonize, they are coming back.

  
  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  
  


Katara’s world drifts by.

The sea and the rocks under her, pillars of stone, bird nests alp empty.

“Katara, you have to eat something.” Sokka nudges her side, pokes her nose when she faces him.

Forced gestures, a rehearsed dance she joins in, begging for the comforting illusion of normalcy.

“That’s my line.” she faintly complains.

It sounds off, even to her own half-deaf, half-dead ears.

It all sounds unnatural. 

But something is coming.

The end is near, and that reassures her, in a bizarre, futile way.

Even when they are held by daylight, Katara can feel the pull.

It guides them.

It wants them.

And she can't find a way to push it away, rip it off of her.

“I can’t fight an ocean spirit on an empty stomach. Not even a master waterbender can.” her brother justifies, eats another little piece of sun-dried meat.

It is not appetizing to her.

Nothing is.

Nothing but the goal, so close and so far.

It makes her heart thunder, it makes her hands quiver and her throat lock up.

The world is beautiful and despicable, deformed and twisted and blooming more and more every night.

In the daylight, she can still feel it.

A building headache, pressing down on her temples, more and more at each passing sunrise.

Her stomach does not rumble, her body does not ache.

The moon heals you.

The moon despises you.

Don't you desire her love?

She shakes her head, turns to the side.

“I’m going to sleep.” she says, simply.

“Katara-”

“Goodnight.” comes off curt, short and horrible.

She does not apologize.

The sea sings under her, beckons her closer and closer.

Katara shuts her eyes.

  
  


-

  
  
  
  


“Spirits have a way of both threatening and offering, Ming.” she says, knowing fully well that there is no mystery to be explained.

She recognizes the face.

Something in its deformed, twisted shapes.

“It was deliberate.” Azula says. “What are we doing about it?”

Something swallowed down in her throat.

“We’re sailing along.” she says. “I don’t know what you think we should do, but that’s the obvious answer.”

Azula smiles through hot-white disgust.

“I am giving this poor soul a way to rest.” she says.

Reaches out a hand.

A part of Azula, childish and stupid, can’t help but think that it might grab her back, deny itself the mercy.

But there is no fight, there is no warmth, even as she drags it closer, even as it falls half into the water.

Sets it ablaze.

Blue lights up the world, fiendfyre uncaring of how wet the corpse is, even atop the stone it lays in.

“May your ashes find their way.” she says.

It’s the honourable thing to do.

The thought is enough to nearly make her laugh.

That would be socially inadequate, though, so she keeps it to herself.

She was never as attached to her honor as he was, but it was Azula’s duty nonetheless.

Duty doesn’t care whether she is the only heir or a second-born.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


He can vaguely register that a rainstorm is approaching, even amidst his contemplation, his shaky vision and his shakier belief that nobody will miss him much.

The waves are his guide.

Following with just the slightest delay, not quite bothering to give him the illusion that he’s in full control.

The smell of salt and rot, the pressing ache in his temples.

His only company is the feeling that makes him choke up, the something in his throat, down in the deepest pit of his stomach.

He lays down on the boat of ice, breathes in.

Breathes out, looks up at the sky.

It’s all empty.

Even though there is the ice-cold warmth on his back, he still feels like he is sinking.

“We’ll be fine.” he reassures his trembling hands.

The promise rings hollow in his ears, makes him shake his head, go back to rehearsing his speech.

Aang smiles to the lonely expanse around him.

The peaceful sea that guides him nonetheless, through the eye of the hurricane.

The pure grayness, the rocks peeking from the water, narrowly dodged.

Things that were once islands, now deep down, all greenery and life forgotten and fossilized.

Aang thinks of lion-turtles and their nests, of their corpses sinking to the bottom of the ocean, as they let themselves go, no longer needed.

How long will it take, for the delirium of a fulfilled purpose to set in?

Through his mind, drifts the detached knowledge, no memories attached, of monks who meditated to their deaths.

His head tilts to the side.

Maybe, if he dares not find his way, that will be his fate.

He spreads his arms, dares not shiver as he summons up saltwater, freezes it into icy snow.

Airbending protects him, keeps him both so warm and so cold he can’t feel anything, anyone.

It’s just lonely.

He misses them.

( Blue eyes.

Big and wide, crazed with amazement as they- she? - bent the rain away from their group.

Laughter, congratulations.

A warm body, too large to be human, behind the three of them.

Three?)

His head tilts.

Maybe.

Aang doesn’t want to dwell on the thought that he was someone before.

He just closes his eyes, pretends he can will his heart to stop its rocking.

  
  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


“I think we’re close.” Ming says.

Azula can see her hand, the trembling grasp as she holds weakly onto their raft.

She can see it in her eyes, something unspoken.

A thing that Azula can’t catch onto, some kind of fascinating sixth sense, glinting in her eyes, showing in the way her mouth twists.

She can’t help but try to study it closer, gaze into her face, try to decipher her in every little question.

She wonders what is so array, to provoke that level of fear into the girl.

The tribal peoples have been researched extensively. They’d revered the sea and the moon, they’d been enamoured with the spirits.

Yet, her Ming gazes at the moon with pure hatred, talks not of her people and of their beliefs.

In another world, she would contemplate bringing the girl back with her. Their few interactions, growing into a list of longer and longer length, had proven fruitful, entertaining.

Either way, thinking of home brings something to her chest.

A gift from her mind, the doubt that of wheter she is ready to leave behind herself in the name of her nation.

If there is another way, one that doesn’t waste a resource as precious as her.

A wasted prodigy, who will die wondering if she was the heir her Fire Lord had sought so dearly.

She shakes her head, looks away.

A sunken island stares back.

Maybe it was once part of their empire?

The thought taunts her, makes her crave for an outlet.

Her fingertips heat up.

She wants to boil the sea, she wants to make it matter.

But she is in control, and she needs nothing but herself and her mind.

She must not fall victim to her own stupidity, to the mistakes of youth.

She must not be like him.

Azula drives away the thought of his face, of the way he’d leaned into Father’s hand, almost unconsciously, that day. 

Of the comforting voice, lulling the spectacle to a stop, lulling the boy to safety.

Of how the sun shone his blessing so bright and wild, of how Father’s hand caught on fire.

But she is not alone, even if she doesn’t have to smile.

The other girl’s back against hers, the soft warmth of someone who has not an use to their name, is enough to drive away the thoughts.

Azula stares up at the bird, flying in circles around the boat.

Wide and close, almost like there’s a pattern.

It will dive down once in a while, skitter close to the water, taunting the peaceful sea to grab at it like it knows it just might.

Something about the moon-mother acts as a reminder.

  
  


The moon-mother dives down some more.

Its dark, plain feathers wet with the dirty saltwater.

Ming sighs, reaches out a hand, as if she’d never gone dark and numb, as if snapping out of trances had long since become second nature.

“Junior, come down here, dumb bird!” she shouts out, rolls her head. There’s a smile in her voice.

She can’t see it, but it dares not sound genuine.

All gestures seem forced, wrong.

“When we get there, you plan to… Talk down the spirit.” She says, bringing up the plan again.

In her voice, the disbelief rings clear.

“Spirits are fickle things, Azula.” she says, as the bird lands on her shoulder.

“May I distrust you on that.” she says. “I doubt you can change its mind.”

Soft bird croons, a beak grooming Azula’s hair.

She has priorities greater than to bat it off, push it away.

“You can help.” Ming says. “Plus, I was once blessed by the moon. Her spirit lives on in me.”

Euthanasia.

The word comes to her head, a way to take the spirituality away from a sacrifice.

It means the same to her, in that moment.

She agrees, fire tingling in her fingertips even after the bird flies away, breaks the pattern.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


In Appa’s back, breathing in the salty air.

The blocked throat, the numbed mind.

Katara runs through the motions, time and time again.

Freezes spikes of steam onto her hands, carves daggers out of thin air.

Sharp and icy, nicking at her skin like little teeth.

Melting away easily, recoiling from her fever.

She shakes away droplets, falls down to the floor.

In her mind, there is roaming.

Plans run over, none solid enough for her to go with.

Katara can’t help but flinch, when she hears the scream that breaks through the barriers of the nightmare.

Her mind roams, runs through plans, tries to find it in her to go through with at least one of them.

However, her meaninglessly meaningful nightmare is ended by something.

A sharp screech, almost human.

But she can recognize the sound.

Temple gardens and plays in front of the fire.

She shakes her head, for there is no way, there is no possibility.

But she isn’t alone, she isn’t the only soul awake in that place.

A moon-mother screeches again, dives down towards Appa and the rest of them.

She shakes Sokka awake, points to the silhouette, backlit by the gray, hollowed-out moon.

Its movements aren’t quite agile, its flying isn’t quite natural.

Familiarity frozen over with a wave of her hand, dropped down to the leathery saddle.

“Sokka, wake up!” she shakes him again, tries to pry him away from sleep’s hands. “Sokka, look!”

His head turns, his eyes open.

Close, all lazy and not quite catching on.

“It- It’s familiar.” he says, mid-yawn, reaching out for the thing. “Get rid of it.”

He tries to turn back, his efforts stopped with a heavy, cold hand.

“It’s same moon mother from the siege.” she mutters.

The ice around it is melting all too fast.

Katara is enraptured by the familiarity.

Puffed-up feathers, plain brown giving way to the scar, taking up most of the left side of its face.

Shaped like fingers, just around edges.

The thing snaps, tries to lunge at them.

Hissing high, screaming out.

“Katara, shut it up-” her brother whines, closes his eyes. “I don’t care, all birds look the same-”

“It’s the moon-mother we’d found beside Aang.” she says.

His eyes truly open.

Bright blue, wide lightning-strike.

Mouth opens, mouth closes.

“Oh, fuck.” Sokka lays down, places a hand over his face.

“How?” she asks, half to the bird, half to her brother.

The thing stops.

Wide eyes focused on her, not quite animalistic enough to not be all there.

Squinted gold, disproportionate stare.

She lifts her hand.

Melts the ice into a puddle, ignores how it soaks into the saddle.

“You can go.” she tells it.

The superstitious part of her objects, thinks of spirit-animals and legends of blessings in disguise.

Katara bats her hand at both the ideas and the thing itself.

It does not move an inch.

Instead, it side-eyes her.

“Go away!” Sokka says.

Its wide eyes lid over a bit, as it suddenly runs up close to them.

“Shoo!” she tries to nudge off the bird.

Gets her hand just enough for it to hop onto it.

Surprisingly warm and heavy, as its claws dig into her palm.

It doesn’t stop staring at her.

“Get out. Go away.” she tells the bird, shakes her hand.

It dares not budge.

Instead, she swears she can see its too-wide mouth smile.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


His eyes open to darkness.

The purest night.

Not a glimmer of the moon.

Panic comes in a sudden wave, jolts Aang up.

But-

The moon is back.

Something passed by it, he realizes.

The light returns, and he can see it-

Large and fluffy, a tail wagging as it glides through the air.

“W- Wha’?” Aang rubs at his eyes.

The figure is still there, faintly lit.

Going away.

“Hey, don’t go!” he screams.

There is no glider, but the air gives way easily.

Airbending is a skill, engraved into the memory of his muscles, carved into his too-light bones.

He leaps into the air, twists and turns.

Falls and rises, gives chase.

“HEY, HEY!” he screams.

The wind whips against his face, comforting caresses as he hunts after the thing.

The dim moonlight, the laughter of the sea.

It looks so soft and fluffy, and Aang knows he shouldn’t act so childish, but it feels familiar.

The creature stops.

“You’re not alone!” he realizes, floats in the air for a second.

There is someone in the saddle.

Someone screaming his name.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  


Heartbeat heartbeat.

Katara holds him close, his heartbeat thundering through ribs she can feel too much.

“Aang, sit down and eat something, you’re a skeleton!” she blurts out.

“No- no, ma’am, I’ve got a-” he interrupts her, pulls away and points at himself. “Skin!”

Katara's friend is back.

Tears pool, fall down as the moon shines bright behind a film of clouds.

“Holly shit, buddy, you’re back!” Sokka takes his turn, hugs the boy from behind.

Aang wheezes out, wide-eyed and grimacing:

"Who are you?"

And Katara stops.

Breaths swallowed down, the world suddenly all too loud, despite the perfect quietude.

"Do you... Not remember us?"

"Can't say I do." he says.

And then, he hugs the two of them close.

“But you seem trustworthy enough!” his smile is audible, even as the world goes dark, even as she shuts her eyes.

Heartbeat tears, heartbeat break.

A wobbly smile, Sokka’s sad laugh.

“I don’t know what happened to you, but I’m glad to know you’re still Aang.”

  
  


(She wonders, what if someone found him before.)

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


The night sky is still a bit red when they find their way to the stench.

Nothing of the smell, nothing of the blur in the distance could’ve prepared them for what the-

The mass.

It’s nothing if not that-

For what it had become.

No training could’ve prepared Azula for the sight of it.

She was raised in a language that beast does not understand. 

There is no burning in the sea, there is no banishing in a land that belongs to no man.

That thing-

It’s much worse than any punishment that threatened to befall her.

Back at home, prayers were said at sunfall. Now, even well into the night, they rung on her ears, memories like handprints on her skin.

( Chalices raised high, bathed in the red temple light.

The revered-yet-hunted dragons stared down at them, blinding gold eyes sightlessly glaring at Azula.

The fading sun was blinding, but she knew better than to look away.

Therefore, she stood, fascinated with a bored face, as the drums rung out, as the bells sang and as a cacophony filled the air.

“May we be united as one in the land of spirits!” screamed the sages, a chorus of old, raspy voices. )

And united they were.

Flesh bound together, glued by skin like melted wax. Dead fish eyes, blindly staring down on her face.

Encrusted by saltwater and seaweed, exposed organs and wounds like gills.

Exposed organs, wounds encrusted by saltwater.

Leathery skin opening up into mouths of a thousand baby teeth, no screams ever coming out.

It pulsates, an emulsion of soon-to-be cadavers that dares not move more than that.

Control and forced fascination give up to the bile that rises in her throat, to the reflexive twitching of her hands, to the way they beg to light up, to burn Agni’s light into those blind eyes.

They must destroy, they must make that thing go away.

All doubt is gone, when there can be the restoration of harmony to that world.

That creature is what remains of the so-called La, is what remains of a tribe.

The plans to elliminate that unworthy abomination suddenly seem worth it.

It stares through her, but Azula knows she is anything but unseen.

Ming falls to the ground, clutches her head.

The moon shines brighter in the sky, through the clouds and down on them.

A part of her almost wants to join in on the whimpering. A fact just brutal enough to motivate Azula into the good decision.

A firebender’s purpose.

Destruction.

In the sea, it comes not through her force - nothing but a phoenix’s dying flame would be enough to burn with no fuel - but through her voice.

There is no rehearsal.

There is no preparation other than her bow.

Honouring the wretched thing, the thing that pretends it isn’t all there.

Wet floorboards against her forehead, as she forces her body down.

Disharmed hands extended in front of her.

Respect to the creature, that makes her hands tremble, that makes her mouth quiver and her throat well up, her stomach churn from the bile that rises up.

Suddenly, a sound breaks through.

The laughter of a hundred people, no semblance of synchrony, ringing through the night, stretching on, louder and louder at each of her rapid heartbeats.

She waits until it dies down.

Respect for the dead, right before they’re gone.

“You shall listen, for I am your devoted follower. I have chased you, and I shall speak to you.” Her voice dares not tremble.

She doesn’t dare to let anything happen.

Ming whimpers beside her.

She would’ve made a good peasant.

Maybe a noble, even if not one very good at it.

This is still the end.

The sea does not answer, the waves do not lash, the waves do not dare throw them down.

The sea does not answer, but it wants her to speak.

“You have made a grave mistake.” she says, her voice calm, her face expressionless, facing a creature worse than Koh himself. “Your anger may burn, but when it cools down, there will be nothing left.”

And then, the trembling voice comes out, the accent louder and more notable than ever.

“Maybe that’s what you want.” Ming says, her overly-emotional words cold. “But when anger burns out, nobody will quell your tears, nobody will sooth your woes, Lá.”

They have two different ways of going about that, it seems.

“You-” Azula starts, resists the urge to set her hands ablaze, to grip onto whatever she can find and make a tribute out of it.

“You have destroyed not my tribe, but yours too.” Ming says. “You have taken down your home, you have been made blind by your fury.”

The sea laughs.

The storm clouds roar.

As Azula breathes in one last time, shuts her eyes, the waves turn into a spirit’s hands, black water lashing against their raft.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


An arrival made to the screaming.

In Appa’s back, the wind is a whip, the night is a blur.

The moon shines bright, visible through the clouds.

With the sound, the bird - Junior, Aang had called him - digs further into Katara’s arm.

His eyes go wide, and suddenly, the grip is gone.

The sharp flapping of unsteady wings, as he flies off to the sea.

He screams.

He screams after the people down there.

She looks at Sokka, realization clear over disgust and disturb.

For they are not alone against La’s wrath.

In the night, down in the waves, people drown, dragged not away but in, by the hands of the sea.

For once, the answer to the world’s question seems almost clear.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


They cling to the beast’s wet wool.

It breathes, fast and tense, loud rumbling growls coming off of it as Azula and Ming are helped up, into the leathery saddle.

Few words, not much but the gasp of recognition.

“I’ll explain later, now shut up!” Ming’s hoarse voice hisses through bared teeth.

More important than that, though, is the moon, a shining white halo on the Avatar’s peach-fuzz head.

His large gray eyes filled with tears.

“I’ll try to fix this.” he says.

A voice childish and broken, vulnerable and despicably human.

With the next blink, the world is filled by blue light.

Pure, through the arrows carved into his skin, as he drifts.

No answer, no words.

Nothing but the fact that the mass-

It stops.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  


  
  
  


The mass wants to laugh.

The mass wants to cry and sob and hold.

Unity has long since been broken.

They stand conjointed but conscious, all around La.

They are a barrier, but they block no words.

“I- I allowed this to happen.” the Avatar says.

The voice of a child, the voice of one of them.

“Didn’t I?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry it came to this.”

  
  


Some of them want to take him onto the mass, back into the comfort of arms coming undone.

They are no longer safe, and they haven’t been human in so long.

La’s anger screams at the backs of their minds, he is claw and finger, he is the seal and the koi and the dragon that surrounds the world.

But some of them are coming along.

“I- I don’t know any of you. I don’t think you know me.” he says, a wisp of light and peace, a voice soft and weepy.

**Then come with us** , La whispers, resisting the urge to scream.

**Come with us, my dear, and we will know eachother like foot and nail, like fin and scale.**

“It’s not right.” he says. “Why can’t you come with me?”

La laughs.

The chorus is dwindling.

“I want you all free.” he says. “The- someone? - they used to tell me that there is no freedom, when something ends up like this.”

You know not what you talk about.

Hands reach out, bits of corrupted, cracked pottery.

Washed over, washed away.

La cares not for them, for he still has enough to keep them close, to hold them tight and keep them from getting away.

“Then teach me.” the boy says, a smile of sunlight and a breath of summer wind.

They reach out.

Some of them are clinging to hope, to their previous students now long gone.

Shards of memory, sassy children and quips followed by laughter.

“Why can’t you?” the Avatar asks, a tilt to the side, a pull and a nudge. 

“Don’t you know?”

In that place, that escapade of dreams and minds, there are no waves to drown the boy with.

  
  


There are no hands close enough to snuff his fire, to blow away his breeze.

“You should live. All of you.” the boy’s words ring out, hopeful and hopeless-inducing.

“You can leave, you know?”

  
  


**Oh, nobody here can.**

**Not for long, at least** , La says, his voice calm as he swims, a gentle rainfall, a fish whose fins have been bit off.

But that is something they all know.

There isn’t much to be said or done, between them.

“You can, though.” Avatar Aang says. “You can leave. You can grieve and let us all grieve, too.”

**What is the purpose in that, my friend?** , La asks.

“Not being angry.” he says. “It hurts, but with time comes peace.”

Pain never fades.

“Why?” the boy asks, sadness and smiles.

I am the saltwater in your wounds, i am the sea of your rainfall.

“You don’t have to be.” he says. “Anger can’t keep you running forever.”

But it can keep me alive for long enough to avenge her.

“Why vengeance?” 

Hands try to slap at him.

They have all felt La’s pain.

They are insulted.

_Good._

**Because the fire snuffed her out,** La says. **The people you defend burned her, the people you protect killed her.**

“She’s restored, in a way. The moon still shines, just as the ocean still-” a hand is waved around, wisps and raindrops. “Well, her spirit lives on in those she’s blessed, just as yours lives on in those you’ve cursed.”

The sea-that’s-come-alive makes a mistake, in all his impotent glory.

They won’t live for long.

And out there, something breaks, not let out by La, but all on its own.

An icicle falls down, a cascade of flesh and bone.

“Would you like them to keep suffering?” 

**It’s not suffering. It’s justice,** La says. Y **ou are too young to know.**

“You are too old to consider.” the boy says.

La’s laughter rings out, loud and clear and all alone.

But the mass had been dying for so very long.

And an Avatar is just what they'd needed to let go, to fade back and away.

“It’s alright.” the boy says. “You don’t have to laugh. _You_ are the tears. Didn’t you say that?”

  
  


“You are the tears, you can cry.”

Weak laughter that stops soon enough.

“Because, afterall, you’re all alone.”

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


As Aang’s eyes open, the sea is turning brown.

He’d always imagined blood tinting all lenses red, driving men mad with power they should’ve never had.

But the water turns brown with rot, foams with floating blubber.

The mass is still stuck together.

Not conscious, not anymore.

Just suffering, he thinks.

“They’re hurt.” he says. “But not dead. Katara, we can save-”

“How long do you think they would live, Aang?” Ming interrupts, her voice as warm as the icy hand on his shoulder.

Some of them try to fight back. 

Waves come towards the bison with little push, little strength. 

The people of the mass aren't all there.

Maybe they're not there at all, a part of him thinks.

The bird in her shoulders - his name rings out as wrong as hers does - screeches.

Ming looks at it, breathes in and shakes her head, her face hidden from Aang.

“I can’t understand you.” she says, lifts a hand to her shoulder.

Lets him perch atop of it, one last time.

Neither of them know how he will come back from that.

She remembers, words she'd muttered under the deck.

(You can use your firebending, as a last resort.)

(There is no going back.)

The bird lifts off.

Did Yue whisper that?

Either way, their story ends like it had begun.

Once more, Zuko bursts into flames.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one tip: outline things clearly, edit your stories properly, don't be a shitty author like me.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I thank @muffinlance for the inspiration for the whole "phoenix zuko" thing. I'm really, really into unkillable characters, for obvious reasons. This is a rewrite of a phoenix Zuko drabble I had planned out, but that turned out too crack-y for my current tastes! This isn't exactly a gift fic this time around, but it's something that's been inspired by my habit of scrolling through tumblr on my rest breaks from commissions. 
> 
> This is a really angsty chapter, but I'm having fun! I'm just,,,, going around, being a little bastard, at the moment. Anyways, see you next time, hope you enjoyed this installment of my poor impulse control and my poorer writing skills BD
> 
> heres an urutau for you: https://www.wikiaves.com.br/770558&t=s&s=10538


End file.
